Okay, we’re now a full two weeks into this challenge. How’s everyone holding up? l’ve been pretty pleased with my output so far–even working a few form poems into the mix. Anywho, we wrote kind poems yesterday, so today I’m going in a different direction for my little boys.
For today’s prompt, write a deadly and dangerous poem. Or you could write just a deadly poem. Or you could write a just dangerous poem. Feel free to poem on the wild side today!
Here is my attempt:
“Ghosts”
Of course, we walk through a cemetery,
though Will prefers to call it a graveyard,
and we talk about the weight we carry
around our big house on the boulevard,
though Will prefers to call it a graveyard.
Always something else, he labels the things
around our big house on the boulevard
as if we live in some movie showing
always something else. He labels the things
we never speak about from our dark past
as if we live in some movie showing
all of the curses and spells that we cast.
We never speak about from our dark past
those last fading specks of purple twilight.
All of the curses and spells that we cast
over our shoulders burn into the night–
those last fading specks of purple twilight–
and we talk about the weight we carry
over our shoulders. Burned into the night,
of course, we walk through a cemetery.
*****
Find me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
And be sure to learn more about writing, publishing, and life on my other blog: My Name Is Not Bob.
*****
Make Your Fiction Deadly and Dangerous!
Learn how to write an exciting deadly and dangerous story with Writing the Paranormal Novel, by Steven Harper. This book helps writers choose supernatural elements, create engaging characters, develop strong plot points, and more.
Risky
Caution: You don’t know as much as you think you do.
Warning: What’s important to you often explodes.
Attention: Getting up this morning was hazardous.
Alert: But it’s better than not getting up, isn’t it?
Danger: Is what nips at your heels, gets you to run.
That about says it!
This put a smile on my face.. Thanks
Thank you both! When I revise, I’ll probably do something about the multiple “gets.” I noticed them only later. But that’s the risk, when you try to be the first to post. Not that I was gunning for it — but once I saw it was a possibility, I did hurry up a little!
Spot on! Very true. Wise and witty, thanks!
ok ! am on high alert now .. till he next prompt that is
Quite a nifty poem! Good job!
Loved it!
All good!
This poem is simple and brilliant. It has great commercial appeal. Quick, get a greeting card contract for it and order some refigeratior magnents and t-shirts.
Thank you, zwrite1 and all! I’m amused to the greeting card idea, because I’m so accustomed to my poems costing me money (sample copies of publications) rather than making me money.
Thanks again for all the nice comments.
This is great!
The Question
If I fail to open the door
step into the darkened hall
If I refuse to push the remote
listen to the world apart
If I resist the urge the
move at all
will I be safe today?
Good one, Jane!
All so tempting.
Nice one, but I’m afraid the answer is, “No.” You cannot be safe today. The prompt forbids it.
Ah the mistake so many make…and in the making do neither escape danger nor truly live to find joy … Well put Jane!
Possibly not. If danger really lurks, it’ll come on your couch too I suppose..!
Nicely done! It IS tempting sometimes — to try to play it safe, but… yeah… it doesn’t really work.
Profound and eminently readable. Enjoyed it.
A great question, and a great poem.
Quandary indeed. Very well put, Jane!
“They never go away”
We all have our monsters.
Hers,
have misshapen heads,
oozing fluid from their eyes.
They appear in nightmares,
waking her from sleep,
disappearing with the flick
of a light switch.
Mine,
drive through parking lots
like they are on the inter-state,
with misshapen heads,
phones attached,
eyes never on the task of driving.
They never go away.
I’m with you, Jerry! I have those monsters around me, too.
Another fantastic piece from one of my favorite poets. And , oh do I agree!
So true. They will only multiply.
Sorry I had to take a call
Isn’t that the truth! And they’re EVERYwhere!
Scary! To compound the danger, our region has added a few roundabouts within one of the parking lots. Just try to walk through that one!
Timely poem!
Ecxellent! Timely & true — and a pet peeve of mine too.
A-men, brutha! Those damned mobile devices and their stupid phones!
Monsta’ indeed. Get a Volvo SUV and pray.. a lot.
You write Danger large in this little verse.
enjoy the contrast set up so well here
Terrific start Robert …. Great poem, great structure.. mhmmm forgot the form name….forgetting can be dangerous
I second that, PKP!
Thanks, Pearl and Linda! It’s a pantoum.
Dangerous and Deadly
Dangerous and deadly
Both
Handing your heart
To the NY Jets
Watching green blood
Pour
The same can be said for Eagles fans.
The Bone House
The old mausoleum up at Evergreen
Cast the air of wet stone and secrecy
I questioned… how I could sense life
Among these dead… how the urns
Had eyes, gazing from the niches
At one who wonders
Brave fingers slipped
Under storm beaten gates… as if empathy
Was possible from such a grand entrance
Breathing in the cold
Calacatta floor, towering tombs,
And the intricacies of architecture and time
Only they know
Closing thoughts, last whispered words
A beautiful blight, perhaps — as the light
Of angels cast shadows, umbrageous wings
Gather spirit, and a moment never shared
I liked this, the subject matter is challenging and you rose to the occasion.
I like this one. Great job on the prompt.
such good sensory images here.
There are Pills for That
When every bump
Has you jump
When life fills with fright
At all that might
Be dangerous, deadly to you
There are pills and things to help
You through!
Oh, great take on the prompt!
Amen.. but sometimes even that doesn’t help!
Great take…but I agree with Leo…sometimes even pills don’t take the demons away.
Hahaha
Interesting!!!
I’m thinking someone took my pills – someone after me again –
)
Who’s your sponsor, Bristol-Myers?
Very cute.
good title, good poem, Pearl.
Let’s Get Down to Earth
When my bed shook out of the blue
it was harebrained (pitifully so)
to fear a possible earthquake
significantly less
than sudden recall of 1973′s
The Exorcist.
Love it, Marie. I didn’t sleep for a week after I saw that movie.
Week, nothin’. That stupid thing haunted me for years.
Still, I can’t hear Tubular Bells without it giving me a shudder. 
Pathetically, this poem is a true story, except I wasn’t in bed. I was at the kitchen table, and my chair began to move across the floor. It was from tremors in Kentucky (I am in NW Ohio).
After 20 years in California, I’m used to furniture moving.
I have felt two earthquakes here in Western Mass over the past ten years…crazy! We don’t think of quakes out here on the East Coast, but, Boston is on a huge fault AND, most of Boston is built on fill!
Great poem, BTW.
Funny, but most of our worst fears are the irrational sort.
When the Exorcist came out, I did not see the movie, but my piano-playing sister learned to play the theme on the piano. It was one of the most haunting tunes to hear on our century old upright Heintzman piano!
It really is. It seemed perfect for the movie. *shudder*
no earthquake here but your poem brings a rumble to my ear – good one – knew not to see that movie – never did and now I’m glad – your stories – oh my
Yep … don’t do it, Jane!
I saw the exorcist, many moons ago, but I dont’ remember being scared.
Children of the corn on the other hand freaked met out.
I didn’t see Children of the Corn. I haven’t seen another scary movie since The Exorcist, lol! I refuse to do that to myself again!
What about Rosemary’s Baby or The Shining?
Trying to get my wife to get up the nerve to watch The Exorcist.
And we just had an earthquake last night – as native SoCal folk, we just looked at each other and said “Meh.”
Oh my goodness!
Oh, I’ve had that same feeling. When I’m alone in the house at night, that’s when I start to wonder if all those movies are real.
Don’t you just hate when that happens?
It happens to me less in the house I’m in now, but the house I lived in previously was haunted … I might be crazy, but I’m convinced.
GREAT START, ALL!
Bees
It was the bees
was all John from their cleaning service could stammer say
biceps trembling – strength sapped he could only point rapidly as a school-girl
jabbing the air-eloquent in this new stammered terror
this new surreal world tipped to slide off balance
safety skittering to illusion as there in her swivel chair sat
the lady of the house
indelicately slumped impossibly motionless
each coral nail in perfect shimmer in the morning sunlight
it was the bees circling her throat bright as a lover’s necklace
the bees buzzing in that closed bloodless room
* written for The Sunday Whirl… click on my site for further details and of course PA poems….
Apologies for any breaking of boundaries… Just ironic that this written yesterday and wanted to share
Now that is truly creepy. And I love bees.
this is nightmare worthy!
I still feel a gasp in my throat – buzzing in the air
Thanks guys… I am buzzing off now… wanted to read and comment more but eyes closing…
Will Robinson
(Will Robinson is the little boy in Lost in Space, a serial from the 60’s.)
They have no fear, those that boldly go
where angels will not tread.
They fling wide the doors of possibility,
Jumping off the cliffs of faith into the arms
of the unknown, the void, the black hole.
Over on the side, safe in the shadows,
those that hold tight to reason,
call out in shouts that echo through
the halls of time, bouncing back,
“Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!”
Those leaping over angels into
the darkness, hear only the pounding
of their hearts calling them to try, again,
while their thirst for danger
remains unquenchable.
ha! my hubby’s name is bill robinson, nick name “danger”
Love it!
Now, how long has it been since you have seen Lost in Space? My hubby and I happened on it several weeks ago. Man-oh-man, did it make me feel OLD!
Tara…Does he live up to his name??
Me, too, Marie! I put the little disclaimer in because I figured some folks wouldn’t know what it was referring to.
Have to admit — I remember Lost in Space.
There’s strength & beauty in the first & last stanzas of this one, Linda. 
The spirit lives on!
here’s to the memories…
so long ago when I once wanted to be so bold – lovely take on this
Yes! Will Robinson, Lost in Space! A little old school for all the old school people.
WRITING WITH THE DEAD
I used to write in a cemetery.
Not words you would expect, not
desperate, lonely words penned
with an eye toward throwing myself
into an open grave, but stories.
I used to write in a cemetery.
Sitting on a stone bench, listening
to memories floating up through
the grass, rising from stones
inscribed with love and sorrow.
I used to write in a cemetery.
Sitting in the grass beside the empty
grave of a Lieutenant buried somewhere
in France, I listened for his voice.
There was only silence.
I used to write in a cemetery.
One rainy afternoon, lightening struck
a giant elm nearby. The scorched earth
too close. The smell of death too real.
I don’t write in graveyards anymore.
Oooh … good one, Nancy! And good use of a perfectly intriguing title!
Really enjoyed this.
Oh Nancy…on how many levels can a poem truly move one? You have touched them all. Bravo!
Agree with what everyone here said. Beautiful job with this one, Nancy!
Nancy, this poem captured my imagination! The last stanza was a perfect finish!
so vivid your imagery in this – sight, sound, the air – texture everywhere so full of life
This was perfect! Wow!
Oooooooh! Love this one.
PLAYING WITH MATCHES
Close cover before striking,
unless striking is what you’re going for.
The more the tinder smolders
the bolder your intrigue.
Fatigue has been lifted
and your gifted hands ignite the flame.
It becomes a dangerous game
that can only end unbridled.
A conflagration of intensity
with a propensity for heat.
Sweet trepidation moves you
haltingly. You next step unknown.
But you’ve grown accustomed
to the thrill it gives. Teetering
on the edge, dangerously.
This one is loaded. Made me shudder. Good work!
Dangerous & deadly, indeed! A pyromaniac in the making. Interesting take on the prompt, Walt.
Thanks Walt for the chance to experience this, vicariously!
double maybe triple meanings running through with all the great use of sound and edginess
Ooh, now that’s a creepy pyromaniacal fantasy, Walt.
Oh come on (in a nice tone), I thought we were done with Halloween, Robert.
Thanksgiving is just around the corner and so is Christmas.
We were flying with yesterday’s lightness, and now this total shift…
Oh well, maybe I’ll dig up old bones and give it a shot later, since this is a challenge and not for the faint of heart.
Dangerous Life
Blizzards, Nor’easters, whiteouts
Sub-zero temps for weeks on end
Just the way it was for me
When winter set in
While growing up in Northern Maine
Things I really don’t miss at all
9,000 earthquakes a year
In and surrounding Japan
I can still remember a few hundred
While stationed there
Typhoons in the Orient
Nothing more than backward hurricanes
Sometimes super strength plus
Most move slowly and destroy
Everything in their path
I’ve seen more than my share
In Okinawa and mainland Japan
Tornados in the Midwest
That place called “Tornado Alley”
Most seem to come through at night
Or in the wee hours of the morning
Killing and destroying lives
Without mercy or forethought
I’ve seen them, felt them, and survived
In Missouri and Illinois
Hurricane Elena
Hurricane Ivan
Hurricane Rita
Hurricane Katrina
Hurricane George
Hurricane Charles
Hurricane Opal
And some that were forgetful
All made me hunker or run
Now that I live in the South
Every time I get in the car
Every time I take a medication
Every time I eat out
Every time I go to sleep
I face the possibility of
Taking my very last breath
I face the possibility of death
Because that’s what life is all about
Thinking back on the things
That could have ended my life
I am thankful to the Lord
For letting me live through them
For that means one thing to me
I still have a purpose
Now I must get on with it
In spite of the dangers
Another interesting take… life itself is deadly & dangerous. Let’s get on with it.
Well done, life is dangerous enough. At my age just eating the wrong thing can do me in. – Moskowitz
DEADLY AIM
Your target is in your sight,
for shooting straight and true.
Your arrow, graceful in its flight,
slightly off the mark, sails through.
I’ve practiced often on my own
and hoped someday to hit it,
concenrtic circles, this sight to hone,
if it doesn’t come, forget it.
So I check the air for trace of wind
my trajectory interrupted,
I pull back my bow and let it fly,
this arrow’s not disrupted.
I keep my eyes upon the “prize”
the center spot, it teases.
But this heart alights with that true flight,
the course it takes so pleases.
Straight and true the projectile hits,
into the waiting target,
a point devised to give me fits
a joy that I’ll not soon forget.
I shot an arrow into the air,
to see just where it lands.
My aim is good, it nestles there,
with in the middle band.
I keep my target within sight,
to shoot there straight and true.
My deadly aim assures its flight,
points are many. Targets, few.
WOW…Robin Hood would be impressed.
Deadly and Dangerous
The tiny tumor
Flowering in the mammo
Read by lazy eyes
Too true, and happens more often than we would like to think.
This says it all – so much fear in one tiny place. Well done, Pearl
short and striking! well done indeed!
Ouch! Such an unusual and deadly direction for a haiku to take. Deadly & dangerous tightly packed into 17 syllables. Wow!
Such a small, terrifying thing.
Thanks guys… I forgot I had written this … YIKES… it is disturbing ….
Oh, my, this made me want to scream, too true and too close.
It is markedly
More precarious to walk
Through life with no fear.
Amen. It is indeed more dangerous. Maybe a little impossible too.
Walking on thin ice,
you fail to see the danger.
You just love the thrill.
Ours go together nicely, Pard. Was that intentional on your part, or did we happen to post together?
I wish it was deliberate. But this way was more telling.We think alike sometimes.
They do, indeed go well together. Pearl started the haiku train, and you both hopped on board, minutes apart, before it even left the station! Great minds DO think alike!
Sorry, but I’m a footman. I leave the trains for other dreamers.
Perhaps it’s your muse, then — that’s so “well trained”!
PSC: HEE HEE HEE!
Marie is the consummate the Haiku conductor…we three often a ‘mused’ each other in days gone by…we often shared a wave-length… fun times
Blood…
Fists and boots hammered like spike-driven rain,
Spraying the world in blood and pain,
Still he ploughed through the visceral tide,
Ignoring the blade protruding ugly from his exposed kidney side,
He smashed his fist square in the dealers face,
Blood splattered orbitally saturating red the space,
Still they clawed the wounded beast,
Hyenas salivating in circling feast,
They smash his head with rock-hard brick,
Blood pours out like brain-dead sick,
But drug dealers succumb to choices dumb,
They enraged the beast to raging-bull numb,
Berserk he flings them one by one,
Down the street like slime-bag scum,
He breaks the leaders leg in two,
The others scatter their courage piss-their-pants through,
Blood-soaked stitched on the hospital floor,
He drags his ass back to stand guard at the lonely nightclub door,
The painted girls edge past the blood-caked macabre feast,
Of all humanity they rank doormen least,
So inside while the party safely swings,
Outside the sentinel awaits… awaits the next shitbag gang darkness brings…
Creepy. Deadly, dangerous, yes, but also very sad.
… and all true! thanks
Now, that’s great! I felt I was there! Bravo!
Thanks… glad you liked it
Lurking
In the murky depths
where no one cares to tread,
lives an evil
everyone dreads.
You never know when the thing will strike
you will be feeling fine
when over time
you will feel like you stepped on a landmine.
We don’t live our lives in fear
nor do we worry about what isn’t here.
But when evil strikes
we quake with fright
of DNA and cells gone wild
losing our near inhuman might.
Our invincibility lost
our weakness exposed
the life we live now
to soon be closed.
I liked where this was going, but got lost
maybe explain? – thanks Mosk
THE TELL-TALE HEART REVISITED
In your throat it beats.
Fear has squeezed your chest
tightly bringing your heart up
to gag and stifle you. You
know the signs. A sweaty upper lip
is your first clue. The tremor in your hands
translates through you nerve endings.
It is sending signals for you to heed.
Your arm aches, your breathing, labored.
You’ve savored life’s good things
and it brings pleasure and pain.
The synapses in your brain have
fired too quickly, and you sickly
fumble for relief with the belief
that a heartbeat is a good sign.
Danger averted for now. Hoping
the deadly calls in sick.
Help! I can’t breathe.
Banana Peel
at the gennel by the cemetery
where the path slopes down at an angle
guaranteed to have the schoolkids sliding
whenever it snows, and by consequence
break the bones of old ladies
who visit their deceased in cold weather,
the dogs paused at a discarded banana peel.
I’ve no idea if the dogs know the slapstick joke
but even if they did, would it still slip
against the rough tarmac?
If only the banana could talk
perhaps it would apologise for its press
or for the dictates of a God
who thought there should be clowns.
The dogs take turns to pee on the peel.
At least it will rot away quickly.
Dead
My entry for day 14, a Pleiades piece; possibly first one of more to come. I’m not that satisfied with what’s churned out. Let’s see.
Wow. I got started with the poems, and forgot that there was one of my favorite forms to read, the Pantoum written by you, Robert!
Deadly, and little eerie considering a graveyard is hardly a few yards away from my home…
DIAGNOSIS
What secret did he bring back home?
The town, the clinic, Thanksgiving Eve –
oak leaves turning golden; misty foam
over Rapids River – waters rush to leave
the town, the clinic. Thanksgiving Eve,
she stuffed the turkey, made a centerpiece.
Over rapids’ river, waters rush to leave,
leaping the falls that fall without cease.
She stuffed the turkey, made a centerpiece.
He parked his car, walked past the door,
leaping the falls that fall without cease,
out of his life, perhaps, its deadly core?
He parked his car, walked past the door.
That opens on tomorrow. Unknown day
out of his life. Perhaps its deadly core
is water down the current, ocean’s way
that opens on tomorrow. Unknown day,
oak leaves turning golden. Misty foam
is water down the current, ocean’s way,
this secret that he brings back home.
There’s been a run on pantoums today. This is a nice one.
Perhaps hold over from a Veterans’ Day Pantoums Sale…
Another person inspired by Robert’s pantoum. Yours is so smooth and vivid.
Time leaves mach-infinite in its wake,
With you in tow.
Taste love before its expiration date.
*deadly*
in renaissance florence
they called orgasms a “little death.”
that botticelli mars and venus
in london tells it all:
the gods recline, spent, half alive;
i flirt with fear, and win,
i enter the portered door and descend
to the dark cave where chains dangle;
there i look for you among the legs.
the light is red, too low
to make out features – only shadows –
i slump on the floor and wait, alone,
knowing tonight i will remain alive.
—————
CMC
Wow, if this is what I’m thinking – very good.
chance of sudden death
teeters precariously
for mortal heroes
I think it’s come out fine. No need for the
Marie. 
Perhaps if the first line was “unexpected death”?
oh, this is sad. i was just reading about the health issues that vets from afghanistan are facing and it just breaks my heart.
Poet’s Slogan
“Feathery ferns bid farewell”
“Tall thin pines like arrows point up”
“Rocky coasts cradle the bay”
“The deer leaps like a dan…”
I swerve.
It’s never
in brochures or commercials,
“Do not poem and drive.”
ha ha ha! that was great!
hahaha, good one. let’s hope there’s never that law.
Dead Love
He loved her
Enough to give her
A piece of himself
Crumbs falling from the love
He reserved
For himself
She loved him
But the tasteless crumbs
Are burning a hole
In the pit of her heart
And the core
Of her soul
Love nourishes;
There is no sustenance
In paltry crumbs
But,it seems longing numbs
Her ability
To know the difference
“longing numbs Her ability To know the difference.” beautifully phrased.
As my Grandma Irene used to say “If crumbs are what you’ll accept, crumbs are what you’ll get.” – Well written. Been there. I know.
“crumbs falling from the love/He reserved/For himself” – Wonderful!
TIGHT ROPE WALKER
High above the maddening crowd
cheers and jeers resound quite loud
the daredevil in his headbound cloud.
From way up there they look like ants,
and you’ve shitting in your pants.
You took the dare, your can’t recant.
Your nose would bleed at any height,
but your machismo puts up a fight
convincing your head it’ll be alright.
The staff you hold brings balance,
as you teeter on the valance,
turn back, now is your last chance.
High above your heartbeat pumps,
if you quit now, you’ll take your lumps.
And then you hear someone yell, “JUMP!!!”
Now you feel your anger boil,
when fear and common sense embroil
something gets splatter on the soil.
But you inhale, you hold it in,
with each slow foot step, you begin,
conscious of the fear you’re in.
You curse the name of Karl Walenda
that bastard was the guy that sent ya
over the edge; a real mind-bender.
Against all odds, you cross your tether,
and your head is lighter than a feather.
But glad you’re not beneath the heather.
The Jinx
I’ve created a masterpiece
Heart swells with pride
I’m such a genius!
To myself I confide
I try to upload it
With just a quick click
The screen fades to black
Yeah, that did the trick.
Why does this ere happen?
What do I do now?
I have to seek help
I thought I knew how
He gives me the look
I hate causing a fuss
I know just enough
to be dangerous.
excuse my err on the ere, should be e’er, eh?
Dead Lee and Danger Us Lee
Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov. 14, 2011
Out in the great Wild West there lived
Two twin brothers of outlaw lore,
One was Dead, the other Danger Us–sieved
With bullets in his head from a .44 bore!
They lived the ‘life of Riley’ they say,
Long before William Bendix’s time,
Shootin’ up bars, robbing banks for pay,
Those Lee brothers, twins to the Devil in crime.
Up on Boot Hill you can read their epitaph:
Here lies Dead Lee and his brother Danger Us,
I know all about them ever so well, each by half
Because as a kid I watched them on B & W TV fuss.
Back in the 50′s and early 60′s they shot up everything,
But guess who got them at last? Was it big Matt Dillon,
On Gunsmoke, Hooray! Or maybe when Roy Rogers, sing
With jeep Nellie Bell along, with Dale Evans as fill in.
Maybe the man was Sugarfoot, or possibly tall Cheyenne,
Hop along Cassidy, or Lightning Bill Carson to do them in,
Or Poncho’s Mexican sidekick with a gun in hand,
Or our boys Maverick, or Wyatt Earp as Hugh O’Brien!
Could it have been Batt Masterson, or the Lone Ranger
With Tonto by his side to do the ultimate trick
Who finally shot Lee Dead, and even in reverse Us Danger
It could have been Rowdy Yates on Rawhide TV pick:
The pseudenym for Clint Eastwood in wild west TV land,
Long before movies of “Hang ‘Em High” ever came to grit,
Speaking of which “the Duke” John Wayne, with gun in hand
Could have been the one in “True Grit” who put them in the pit!
Thus the memories of my childhood’s youth live on,
When the Wild West ruled the day, with TV rabbit ears,
A New England Yankee way up in Maine saw it all, now gone-
Those days of yesteryear, still bring on Hip Hip Horaay cheers!
Dead Lee and Danger Us Lee
Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov. 14, 2011
Out in the great Wild West there lived
Two twin brothers of outlaw lore,
One was Dead, the other Danger Us–sieved
With bullets in his head from a .44 bore!
They lived the ‘life of Riley’ they say,
Long before William Bendix’s time,
Shootin’ up bars, robbing banks for pay,
Those Lee brothers, twins to the Devil in crime.
Up on Boot Hill you can read their epitaph:
Here lies Dead Lee and his brother Danger Us,
I know all about them ever so well, each by half
Because as a kid I watched them on B & W TV fuss.
Back in the 50′s and early 60′s they shot up everything,
But guess who got them at last? Was it big Matt Dillon,
On Gunsmoke, Hooray! Or maybe when Roy Rogers sing
And jeep Nellie Bell along with Dale Evans as fill in.
Maybe the man was Sugarfoot, or possibly tall Cheyenne,
Hop along Cassidy, or Lightning Bill Carson to do them in,
Or Poncho’s Mexican sidekick with a gun in hand,
Or our boys Maverick, or Wyatt Earp as Hugh O’Brien!
Could it have been Batt Masterson, or the Lone Ranger
With Tonto by his side to do the ultimate trick
Who finally shot Lee Dead, and even in reverse Us Danger
I cannot believe we were thinking exactly alike. Good one.
To: Sara McNulty, Good to hear from you and know we are on the same wave lenghts poeticaly. Check out my comments beloe to PMWanken and let me know if the two of you could get to gether to form a chocolate factory entrepreneurship–she will provicde the chocolated I’m sure if you would be willing to provide the Mc Nutties–are either of your from Hershey Pennsylvania??hahaha SMILE–be funny–enjoy life–check out my 15 Nov poem for sentiments
To: PM Wanken, Thanks for the kind words of endearment. Are you related to Willy Wanken of the chocolate factory fortune fame!!Hahahah if so you should inherit millions–of laughs and good times–at least —-SMILE —
Sir Richard “Obi-Wan” Merlin (the Musician) ATWATER at your service
please check out my nov 15 poem for true sentimental journey in life
And Then They Bagged the Chips as Hazzards
Like the columned gray-white nest
of paper-making wasps,
my house: my ark: the shell
that holds my blood-bag heart,
is aswarm. A dozen men
in hazmat carapaces, arms and legs,
arms and legs and lilac respirators,
beat on the windows and walls like
drummers beating a hollow log.
Soon my nest will be naked, down
to its cedar ribs, and my heart
with no lead anchor may float
until its last painted October.
I like this! I live in an old building with my two small children, and have an absolute terror of lead.
Marmalade
Shoulder to shoulder, awareness caught
mid-conversation, the banked heat
of our connection flows through us.
Your smile, so open. What is that bee-signal,
that vibration that leans me into you,
lips parted? I watch your mouth
as if it blossoms, the time of our acquaintance
sped up, lapses dropped, and all of you ready,
waiting, at the back of your tongue
before you twist into a quick but gentle grin,
say “Wait,” with a raised finger against my jaw,
and kiss me, earnestly, on the cheek.
Your beard kisses
my ear. Your browbone kisses
my temple. Even in this corrected swerve,
I know your sweetness
down to the bitter peel.
Pamela Murray Winters
All perfect, especially
“I watch your mouth
as if it blossoms”
took away my breath. – moskareeno
very nice
sorry for the late posting but got tied up on an international flight and they lost my luggage. at least i’m not totally naked in a foreign land since i have the clothes on my back and my wallet to get me home for T-Day to meet my college age daughter who is also traveling. Her’s a late take, what else to do but write POETRY when all else fails in the dilemma of TRUE LIFE
11/11/11/11/11/11 To the Exact Moment
by Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov 11, 2011 prompt word to write a math poem –written in Odessa Ukraine on 14 Nov at 230 AM in my apartment
It was eleven minutes, and eleven seconds, after eleven PM,
On the eleventh day of the eleventh month of November, 2011.
I was determined to make it happen just as planned, like a gem,
Or a jewel from up in the sky, to wish upon a star in heaven!
My SECRET wish of a lifetime to be in fulfillment of a dream,
It would surely come about if I made such a wish, and did it Oh so true,
So I set my watch, proscribed the time, and swore it will be gleam
Of a star on a starless night that will take me there true blue.
On Veteran’s Day as a real live veteran, my chance for luck was sure,
The “luck of the Irish” was with me now, with a rabbit’s foot, and coin,
The flip of ‘heads or tails’ would do me nothing to make it final and pure,
Only ‘a wish upon a star’ like Disney sang so long ago, would make me join
Those whose luck, no matter who you are, know their dreams come true,
So with full intent, and a brave stout heart, I said a prayer to heaven:
“Please Dear Lord, don’t let me down”, I have FAITH and that’s the clue,
To see “my wish” come about to complete fulfillment, rise with leaven.
I was on a flight, first leg Tampa to old Philly, then international to overseas,
We’d cross my native state of Maine and from Labrador view the Titanic
Which sank in 1910 — 36,000 feet below to the surface– makes me sneeze!
Cacthew! (Bless me!) –then pass huge Greenland across the Big Atlantic.
We headed for Ireland to make that wish over the Irish Sea at the allotted time,
“A pot of gold at the end of the rainbow” was surely NOT my wish that night,
As the leprachauns danced about and played with shamrock stems sublime,
I was stuck in the middle of a six row seat, no view from the aircraft windows flight.
And the stewardesses were serving dinner and blocked the isles to prevent my eyes
From looking towards a heavenly starlit glance, to make the wish of a lifetime there,
So I did what any good old New England Yankee boy would do in dire distress of cries,
I smiled an enormous toothy grin, like a Cheshire cat up in a tree with fluffy hair–
And low and behold! that lovely stewardess caught it with a SMILE and a gleam in her eye,
So I saw the star I needed to see on that exact moment in TIME–11/11/11/11/11/11/
A star in the eyes of a lovely girl, how heavenly can that truly be: like “a pie in the sky”,
And I made my wish with ‘crossed fingers’ that the answer would come from heaven.
And lo and behold, she became my wife, just as i expected it would be, fairy tale come true,
So listen my brother, and also my sister, whoever YOU may be, don’t ever give up to do
What you must do, to make your dreams come true, even if you must go to the Irish Sea blue,
To get the one you love to become, YOUR Princess (or Prince), depending on who is YOU!
LOVER OF A FIGHTER
The crack through my universe
sounds as a fist blasts into his scrunched
face and satisfies a hunger I cannot fill—
for I am too soft, barely a challenge,
barely a used punching bag
dangling from a warehouse ceiling—
but if he wanted to, I could tap in
because I would not fight back.
He would come home with his face
(not a version rearranged by a man),
his blood safe beneath unbroken skin,
his shoulder located in its socket.
And I could learn to love him for it.
another late posting due to international crisis of fires to put out by a former real world career spy
More Than Enough, To the Excess!
Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov 12 poem prompt “excess” ===written Nov 14 330 AM in Odessa Ukraine apt
I’ve lived life to the fullest, all my life, like nine of a cats endowment,
A poor school boy in tender years, then a soldier as an airman,
Disabled vet, to college life, and then as a Mormon missionary moment,
Back to college and graduate school, to officership as a spy chairman!
A thirty year career intelligence officer, and five as a university professor,
Traveled to 85 countries all over the world on every continent to boot,
Recorded five full music CD albums,composed a hundred songs, more or lesser–
Wrote 25 books, near a thousand poems, married and had a daughter; Newt
Gingrich would have been proud, even if I didn’t become President, my original goal,
My same year classmates Bill Clinton, George Bush beat me to it a few years back,
But who cares about political life now; my concern in truth is for my eternal soul,
And the prize of life can only be won by following the one true Master, right on track.
So I count my blessings in spite of my failures, and trials and tribulations of life,
When the going gets tough, the way to go may be rough, but so did Teddy Roosevelt,
Rough Rider days achieve fulfillment with a family of children and a stalwart true wife,
I know the reality of more than enough blessings, to the excess, and this is how i felt:
Blessed!
To Each His Own Kind
rmatwater nov 13 poem based on prompt word kind written nov 14 at 4 AM odessa Ukraine apt
Birds of a feather flock together, as do schools of fish in the sea,
Beasts of the field who look alike also follow the allotted trend.
Based on the Bible which says: a man and a woman is the decree,
To come together, united as one, to begin a family around the bend>
Thus a Marriage Amendment to the Constitution I fully support,
That each of their kind should find the fulfillment, male and female,
Even as God in heaven endowed, that this crazy world should not purport
To be perverted to the extent that the desire of Deity should fail.
“For this is my work and my glory”, He said, “To bring to pass the
Immortality and eternal life of mankind.” And thus we should follow suit,
And recognize even as good old literary Shakespeare said: “To be, or not to be.”
That is the question, to follow the way of HELL, or of HEAVEN: who gives a hoot!
I do, and wish YOU would also, but FREE AGENCY is given to man, and to woman too,
To follow the way of the DEVIL, or the way of GOD, and choose who you wish to be,
To each his own kind, yet let kindness prevail for even those who sin, and say Boo to you,
World Kindness Day has just passed by, so let us be KIND in more ways than one you see!
I have thoroughly enjoyed catching up with you! Wonderfully expressed responses to all three of these prompts. I was going to try to pick a favorite…I had to read them all, three times, and still couldn’t choose.
To: Sara McNulty, Good to hear from you and know we are on the same wave lenghts poeticaly. Check out my comments beloe to PMWanken and let me know if the two of you could get to gether to form a chocolate factory entrepreneurship–she will provicde the chocolated I’m sure if you would be willing to provide the Mc Nutties–are either of your from Hershey Pennsylvania??hahaha SMILE–be funny–enjoy life–check out my 15 Nov poem for sentiments
To: PM Wanken, Thanks for the kind words of endearment. Are you related to Willy Wanken of the chocolate factory fortune fame!!Hahahah if so you should inherit millions–of laughs and good times–at least —-SMILE —
Sir Richard “Obi-Wan” Merlin (the Musician) ATWATER at your service
please check out my nov 15 poem for true sentimental journey in life
Reply
*chuckling*
Willy Wonka was one of my favorite movies as a kid…thanks for the smiles!!
Stairs
Emma is three.
Stairs, she tells me,
are extremely dangerous.
Only if you fall, I say,
like Humpty-Dumpty,
and I tap her little head.
She nods and agrees;
there’s little more
that needs be said.
Ah.. but can that little more be expressed without voice? An understanding that passes between you two?
Leo, Three-year-olds are amazingly perceptive.
Some stairs still scare me .. specially ones with bends …
I find ‘open’ tread stairs a bit off-putting.
And that’s that! Well written.
Thanks, Buddah.
I attended the funeral of my friend’s father today. I am overwhelmed with grief for a man I did not know. I cannot imagine what my friend must be feeling. The prompt is fitting to today. But here is more notes, less of a poem…I have not the heart to edit it.
Death, Ended
Death, so beyond our reach
Out of sight
The grave, so silent
The dust, so still
So empty
So lifeless
Our longing
Our anguish
Our searing pain
And screaming fear
Cannot pour life back into
The lifeless
Our grasping cannot hold the dust
The ashes disintegrate
For from dust we were made
And to dust we will return
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
Life breath expiring
Inspired no longer
With the breath of God
Just a body
No longer a life
Only our hope
Lives on
The soul
No longer with us
Some place else
Eternal
I know my hope
Has conquered death
And so my fear
Does not conquer me
And my grief
Will not overwhelm
My Hope died
My Hope rose again
My Hope is alive today
I know my Hope
Has conquered death
Death has ended
It is swallowed up in victory
Secret Agent Sonnet
He’s a smooth operator, he’s quick with his wit;
he can charm you or kill you, yet he’ll still seem
like the most fascinating man ever. But it
would be dangerous to love him. No team
can truly claim him as their own, because
he writes his own ticket; he always has.
He appears upstanding, yet disregards laws.
He’s brilliant at baccarat, plays cool jazz,
is an oenophile and a connoisseur too.
Clever and thoughtful, intelligent, bold,
has hidden talents with a gun or corkscrew.
In bed he’s incredible. Faultless, all told.
But don’t underestimate him. That’s the worst thing to do.
He’s deadly. He’s lethal. And he’s after you.
###
I can hear the James Bond music
Where? Where?
Very fun and nifty use of the prompt.
My Mother Warned Me
She told me not to marry him,
that he was a lazy good-for-nothing,
and Dutch, to boot.
Look at him, she said, the idle fool,
always with a flagon down at the inn.
His fences are falling to pieces,
the cows are in the cabbages
and his fields are full of weeds.
He’d rather starve on a penny than work for a pound,
or take his gun into the woods
and sleep away the day.
He’ll be the ruin of ya’, she said.
She warned and warned me he was of little use.
She never warned me
about the little bearded men.
Poor Mrs. Van Winkle!
Kit, thx for feeling my pain, Mrs. V. W.
Great!
a lovely tribute to the much-maligned Dame, who really deserved that flagonful.
Love it!
ROUNDABOUT-ITIS DANGEROUS TO YOUR HEALTH
The region
in which I live
is growing
Traffic
is reeling
People
are hurrying
to get
nowhere
Roundabouts
are mushrooming–
considered
a reasonable
response
City officials
are sure that
drivers
can go with the flow
No need to stop
except for
brave
pedestrians
who
venture to cross the street
Flu shots abound
at free clinics, but,
I am wondering–
is there a cure for
roundabout-itis?
Patricia, I’m with you on this one for sure. People fail to use their heads in roundabouts and parking lots.
Stop signs cease to be functional, Yield is for the OTHER guy. And the shortest distance between two points is a deadly cat and mouse game diagonally across lanes and dividers.
All the same, I love this.
Technically speaking, roundabouts are supposed to keep the traffic flowing but people still do not want to slow down for other cars or yield to pedestrians.
Thanks for the comment!
I am reminded of an episode from “Modern family” where they talked of STOP sign on roundabouts i guess .. anyway , road accidents are increasing in all parts .. all ’cause people do not bother for rules that are as much for others’ safety as much theirs..
Haven’t seen it but you have summed up well the reason for traffic rules!
ON THE GRASSY KNOLL
Life is no picnic; no party.
Blanket spread and seat secured,
the lines have been blurred
as the crowd awaits his arrival.
A matter of survival for a glimpse
of the King of Camelot. A lot
riding on his chance to repeat.
Reports say he is repleat with
the Fair Bouvier this day.
I hear the crowd start to cheer,
and in the rear I see a shadow hidden
a forbidden wave and save for the motion
no notion of anything wrong. The song
starts to play. Hail to the Chief!
I hear a whistle past my ear,
a clear sound; a flash and a pop.
Amidst the cheers that do not stop
until the galant king has fallen.
Points and shouts, rushing in chaotic
clamour. The knight in shining armor is slain,
The shadows empty; no one remains.
Well put Walt! That “grassy knoll” location sets the stage, sadly, so clearly. the Camelot mentions are so true. Danger is present in this poem!
Excellent, Walt!
Hmmm… Should appear centered, so it forms the hour glass shape found on the underside of a female black widow, but… well… use your imagination.
“Black Widow”
Venomous creature (with a bad rep),
shy, nocturnal (preferring dark
corners and crevices), she’s
rarely aggressive,
(often fleeing
from
danger) but
will bite (when
disturbed, or protecting
what’s hers); may, occasionally
kill and eat her mate (the exception
rather than the rule) and always sucks
the life, from any she considers her prey
interesting poem ! and sure she is deadly !!!
Thanks!
Bees. Now spiders. Do you have a snake poem in you today, by any chance? : )
Now there’s a good idea! I’ll have to think about it….
Rats! Lori K beat me to it. Wait! Rats? How about rats??
)
How nice of you to write this! By the way, how *did* my ex-wife look?
She was lovely… and she asked about you, Mosk!
LOL
Oooooooh. (shudder)
Stranger Danger
Treading carefully, trying not to incite unreasonable fear,
the kindergarten teachers explained stranger danger,
repeating the warnings they’d already heard at home:
Never get into a strange car,
Don’t talk to people you don’t know,
Create secret passwords so no one can claim,
“Your mama wanted me to drive you home.”
Don’t believe the story about the missing dog,
Don’t’ fall for the promise of candy.
Now, to protect from real dangers, to help them make sense
of what they hear and see on the news, it appears they must add:
Don’t shower with your coaches.
Don’t let your mentors fondle you.
You don’t have to sit in your creepy uncle’s lap.
No one is to be trusted. No one is to be trusted.
Perhaps we were just unaware back then, missing
hidden messages when our teachers told us:
Color inside the lines.
A band-aid and a kiss will make it feel better.
Close your eyes. It’s naptime.
Let me read you a story about a big bad wolf,
and then we’ll go outside to play.
Oh! This one stuck in my throat. Poignant, well done.
really well done. the last stanza in particular is amazing.
Wow! This has a real punch to it! Great!
Great title and lovely poem
Very well thought out, and indeed wise words.
On my funeral I wish,
some one would read,
the lines I would scribble
for my soul to heed ..
some words of love and care
to the ones who would miss,
to te few lovers I had,
a phantom hug and a kiss..
some nightmares i would grant
to the ones who trouble my kin
and lastly I would move on
with a song on your lips..
Care to share my last words
even when last has passed,
I wish to hear it for myself,
and only then will I depart ..
Not sure about the dangerous or deadly, but I like it… sad and sweet.
yeah it is .. as i read it now , it does sound sweet
Danger on the Other Side (Orion poetry form)
Beyond the hedge danger lurks
Burdens hide as leaves take fall
Mayhem in the murky ditch
Aroused by swirls of black mold
Algae morphing into asps
Ready to strike its victims–
Stay on this side of the fence
You betcha! Algae morphing into asps! Great!
Ditto.
Public Warning
Take my word for it:
poets are dangerous people.
With a few simple words can
change face of reality, take it to
light, or even dark, forbidden places.
Without fair warning, using no
more than a twisted turn line,
might kidnap heart and mind,
never thinking to leave
a ransom note.
Choke up an innocent unknown
bystander one moment, and bring
another to her knees, or might relieve
deadly calm of daily doldrums.
Once thought to be milksops and pansies,
can approach with deadly force,
or silence of a SWAT team: weapons
at the ready. Knowing no allegiance
except to their craft, can set
established theories adrift on raft
constructed of nothing more than
metaphor, creating mayhem deftly
using loosely slung syllables.
There are those who might
quibble with this proffered opinion,
but take my word for it:
poets are very dangerous
people.
Elizabeth Crawford 11/14/11
May be found at http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/
LOVE this Elizabeth!
Very clever.
I think that history supports your opinion!
Pingback: On the Wild Side for PAD 14 | Vivinfrance's Blog
http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2011/11/14/on-the-wild-side-for-pad-14/
Fast Food
Gangster brothers, fancy-suited,
on the prowl, Chicago style;
rhythmic steps in unison,
eyes narrowed, sinew tense,
slow convergence with focused gaze.
Through the head-high vegetation
strolls the target, unaware.
A sudden leap, three pairs of feet
pounce together on the prey.
Frenzied flurry, kicking, snapping,
twisting, tearing: dish of the day.
Yikes! I ended up somewhere I did not expect to go… based on the title. Sneaky! Well done!
I so wanted this to be about vultures on road kill, but it wasn’t–far more sinister and dangerous. nice work
Life is Dear, but Death is Often Near
Late at night in Omaha
doing some Christmas shopping
November weather, oh, so raw,
sleet, ice and snow are dropping.
Buckled up my baby boy
into his freezing car seat.
Blankie and the heat employ
to try to warm the backseat.
Bundled up the way we are
it’s harder to maneuver,
but at last we’re in the car
late night shop-commuters.
Waiting at the stoplight now,
the streets are mostly empty
Quickly home, I soon avow,
but promise to drive gently.
For now my baby is asleep,
And I don’t wish to wake him.
(Pray the Lord his soul to keep;
my little sleepy seraphim.)
But when the light turns I don’t move
I don’t even rev the engine
and strangely miss the green light groove,
no yellow or red redemption.
And full of self recrimination
because I hadn’t driven
I spy reason for my car’s cessation:
A felonious speed demon.
Four police cars in pursuit.
If I had left the stoplight
a moment before and been en route?
We would have died that night.
And so I thanked my lucky stars,
wondered and contemplated,
that though I generally drive in cars
that night I merely waited.
Lucky escape ! god was looking over you
I’ve often thought the same thing myself.
That’s what I call grace.
That’s a much better title! Maybe I should use that one… Thanks Buddah. XOXOX
Life can be a very mysterious thing, eh?
The neurologists’ waiting room
While someone holds the door for them,
The old folks nod and look around –
An empty chair is welcome. They grip the
Handles of their walkers, smile apologetically
Totter to the seat.
Two rows of seats set face to face
A coffee table piled with magazines
Sits in between. The elderly gentleman
looks about, hoping to see
someone familiar. The aide that
brought him here has left.
When his name is called, a nurse will
Come to guide him into
the proper room where she will
Weigh his body, squeeze out his blood
pressure. Tell him that the doctor
will be there shortly. Close the door
and leave him there alone.
What does he wonder in those anxious
Moments? Remember old friends who were
Feeling fine one day, and then were never
Seen again? They say that’s the best way
To go. A hospital is the worst. As if there
Is a choice…
Everyone is headed in the same direction
Even the good looking nurse who pats his
Arm. Seems a shame we can’t stay young
Forever, and then just don’t wake up some
Morning. The doctor’s getting old, does
He ever wonder which will be the route that
He will take?
The doctor’s voice is loud and hearty,
Talking about tests they want to run.
He wants to run too, run right out of there.
Life has him trapped; death, he’ll meet
Half way.
This brought tears to my eyes. So sad, so true.
Spirit Talk
They come to me most any time of day
Speaking of wins and losses,
Loves long looked for in the maze
Beyond this world, moments wild
With words they never said
And deeds they didn’t do,
Hopes like mushrooms after rain
Springing up eternally, a jolly
Sort of hell rimmed with regrets.
Sometimes they pause and puzzle
What they did, shaking their heads,
But their sad talk is of what they did not,
Of wasted time and cowardice,
Of failures to love and take a chance,
Of angry petty wrongs, sorry too late,
Brave at last, enough to wake me
From dreams of my own failures,
Enough to ask me to listen for a while.
It seems to ease their minds, though now
I hurt for them, dangerous aching pain
That our choices—no matter what they are—
Are never enough to still our souls.
“Hopes like mushrooms after rain” is one of the best lines I’ve ever read. I love the entire poem. I want to print this one to place near my desk to remind me to be more bold, daring and not waste time. Did you just do all these fine poems today? I am reading from the bottom up and if you have more brilliant poems above this one, I may have to drain the ink from my pen and never write again! (hey, that rhymes).
Wow, thanks for those words. Some prompts jazz me more than others, and some days are friendlier as well–but you know that. There will be no ink draining going on here, Missy. Write on! But thanks for reading me;)
Quite a stunner this one. I’ve read it twice, and loved it both times.
An undone task – http://navindutta.com/wordpress/2011/11/an-undone-task/
———————————
If at all a would, a could
Turned to should and be
There is a path that we must take
Gently ordered he
What lies ahead
In order bright
Is sheath of death
To borrow
An undone task
Untouched so far
Demands our plunge
Tomorrow
For if we fail
To fall our foot
Should plough
The ground entire
In rummage,
of a darker day;
“VICTORY”
We must aspire
Saddled, equipped.
In a mild restrain,
of what may
happen hereon
He drew his sword.
He slashed the air;
then charging, he roared -
“COME ON!”
Storm
Choosing isolation,
Locking away emotion and
Encompassing the heart in
A protective Faraday cage to
Prevent the slightest charge of feeling.
A perilous plan – the slightest breach
Setting off a deadly lightning storm.
But the alternative?
To expose one’s soul and
Stand in the midst of the storm,
Arms spread wide, waiting, welcoming
The strike….
Now that – that is truly dangerous.
***I keep feeling like I have read (or heard) something very similar to this. Can anyone tell me what I am unintentionally plagiarizing?***
It’s wonderful, and seems original to me. Which part do you think is “borrowed”?
Thank you; not sure, just something nagging. Something older, more formal. Maybe just had it in the noggin for a while.
Silent but deadly
Who farted?
Was it you?
Just blame it on the dog,
that’s what I do.
Two guys in the elevator.
One breaks wind,
and they both know!
(!) and that’s why I have three dogs!
I AM VAMPIRE
You see me lurking,
the shadows hide what the
heart fears.
Night falls in layers,
misty, mystic moments
come
A flutter; a wisp
to scare you into
abject fear.
And here I remain.
You strain for the warmth
that chills your toes,
for a vampire knows
each bite brings
your blood to boil.
I toil the night.
Darkness is my cover,
my lover
shows the soft spot
where my hunger
is sated. Elated
I pierce you.
Your blood maintains me,
your pulse sustains me.
I make you mine
and it’s a fine line
that I traverse.
In a perverse way,
your neck is tasty,
your skin is pasty.
I am Vampire.
Un-life is great.
But, I really shouldn’t eat so late.
hee hee.
O! I almost wrote about vampires. Good thing I didn’t — this is much better.
Danger’s Jacket
I don’t know why he shrieks so loud
and curses like I put them there.
Those snakes have lived in this crawl space
for years, no need to be so scared.
They’re king snakes anyway—so fat
and plaid from mousing—helpful snakes,
and now they’re hiding from his noise,
brought on from their old jackets hung
along the pipes, draped down the walls;
the hissing fools betrayed themselves
leaving their old clothes stripped away
bunched and ragged in plain sight.
“Do you have snakes down here?” he shouts.
I can’t say that I like his tone,
Nor can I say I have them there,
Although I’ve named them long ago
Elmira, Carla, Herb, and Tut,
For things we name aren’t dangerous—
That’s just a theory, not a general rule—
Not so much as a plumber wielding a tool.
I love this. Been there, done that!
Thanks, Peggy.
“A Ghazal of Unforgiveness”
In my pocket wastes a tall laundry list of crimes—
against me, against love, bled and scarred over time.
Ink marks stain the fabric, my fingertips, so that
we’ve invented a new written language over time.
It reads nothing like courtroom speak, or back-
yard spats of lovers that extend further over time.
More like forgotten war threats tossed to the edge
of anger. Boot-stompin’, fist clenching. Over time
and time again, I learn to release my list, release
offense—battle wounds licked clean in over-time.
Yet, your list lies fresh, neatly tucked, blued bold,
retraced and embraced in red over time.
Will you leave me living with my shame, hanging on
unextended olive branches, spirit wilting over time?
Thanks, Robert, for your poem and reminding me of all the forms available in the world. My meter needs some work, alas.
The Absence of Fear
Absence of fear is the scariest thing,
Sharks and porpoises swim about the same
Knives flash like lightening, all fangs and smiles
and chains clank like limbs on our window panes.
Sharks and porpoises swim about the same
The water all around is blue and fine
Chains clank like limbs on all our window panes
But darkest hiss of noise can’t hurt, can it?
The water all around is blue and fine
Conducting worlds of rich resounding fear
But darkest hiss of noise can’t hurt, can it?
Ears bleed in twisted ribbons through the sea
Our conduct in the world resounds in fear
Although we can imagine it away
Ears bleed in twisted ribbons through the sea
Eyes blind to any negativity.
Although we can imagine it away
Knives flash like lightening, like fangs and smiles
Eyes blind to any negativity
Absence of fear is the scariest thing.
oops, my format went wonky. sorry
Choice
Living is
a deadly bus’ness
Love and hate
Siamese
Twins staking claims on the heart
Deadly dangerous
wow, that was a good one. just socked me on the jaw and so relevant to something I have been through lately.
Thanks.
RED BULL
Joining a friend,
To go fishing,
Seemed innocent enough,
Until I heard the sound!
I knew it was fairly close by,
And being an adventurous soul,
I just had to wander away to find it.
“Be right back! I think I heard something!”
Assuming it would just be something of interest,
I kept walking into deeper brush,
Hoping soon to have the source of the sound revealed.
As I moved trees and shrubs aside,
There it stood in the clearing like a giant,
Sign post. A huge red flag of imminent danger!
Not far from where I stood the biggest red bull,
I even knew existed was standing there,
Staring at me . . . frozen on the spot.
We were almost face to face.
With only a few short and softly panicked breaths between us,
I tried to quickly decide how best to handle the moment,
Then in lightening speed,
It came to me.
I had just studied a healing technique,
Using signs and symbols to work with energy!
In a flash, I did the symbols in the air,
Ending with a poof like motion towards the bull!
I closed my eyes,
Assuming death would occur momentarily,
Instead I heard rapid hoofs the other way.
Opening to see, the bull was nowhere in sight.
I returned to my friend, still fishing,
“It was a red bull. I think I scared it. Let’s go find it?”
We took off, racing full speed ahead in his truck,
We drove a long way down the only road we could find,
Finally, in a meadow, I could see in the large clearing,
A circle of cows,
And standing in the middle of them,
Looking most bewildered,
Was the huge red bull!
Trembling in fright,
Making us giggle,
At the sight!
The result of a reversed danger,
And because we realized,
That sometimes danger can literally,
Turn tail . . .
And run!
(Dare I say . . . no bull?)
Yee-haw, this was fun! Excellent!
Thanks, Buddah, so glad you liked the ride! If you’ll pardon the pun . . . Never knew I could scare the “bull” out of anything!
Day 14 11-14-2011
Write a deadly and/or dangerous poem.
Assignation, Resignation?
Monday morning’s news
sprinkled weekly with the weekend shootings,
on 14th Street or Wilcox or at the projects.
Drive-by fire,
or shooting into a car,
domestic assault, robbery, gang rivalry.
I shudder and feel both guilty and thankful,
because I live nowhere near those
places, people, lifestyles.
I sigh, because the ones who do
can’t seem to escape
deadly dangerous destiny.
Not sure this works as is… may need a longer format than a shadorma to do this right.
Ever Watchful
Oh, too soon
convenience trumps
danger, fear
of attack.
Pro patria vigilans.
You can rest…easy?
What an interesting prompt.
A Murder
“I wonder what they want” she said, “The crows,
just staring, standing there, beneath that tree,
just waiting. Look.” she turned and watched him rip
another paper from the book, then crumple,
toss it on the flame, then rip in quick
succession more,
Crumple, crumple, toss and
burn and cast the paper in the fire, then
stir it with a walking stick to spread the
glowing ashes well in ritualistic
burning of the evidence on pyre.
“They know,” she turned away and tapped the glass
to try to spook the birds, “They know…”
“They don’t,”
he said, “they’re only birds. Now come and help
me with this rug, and mind the little shards
of vase. We need to clean up quickly now,
and then we need to pack and leave this place.”
The Crows remained for half a day, ensuring
that the bones were clean, and every leaf was
picked and turned and everything was as it
was before…and then they flew away.
Hmmm…formatting didn’t work quite right. Oh well…
Crows know! What’s to keep them from telling?! Great eery suspense here
Dangerous and Deadly
Armed and dangerous
She takes her aim
Steady hand, serious gaze
I’ve seen it before, too many times
Sat through it when I wished to decline
But cutting my bangs
Was my mother’s delight
Afterward I was quite a sight
Bangs chopped short,
Terribly uneven,
Now today, I’m a mom who
Has her scissors and
Is armed and dangerous, too
Armed and dangerous, way to go Mom!
My mom used to use a Hair-Whiz on me – google it if you dare! Well written!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYz7HHbaums
My dad is bigger than your dad
My dad is bigger than your dad,
He’s really scary when he’s mad.
He benches twice his body weight
And crushes beer cans when we’ve ate.
My dad is smarter than your dad
His mind is like a memo pad
Where he can always recreate
The evidence to seal your fate!
My dad is richer than your dad,
Lost more cash than you’ve ever had.
His money would intimidate
A mob boss or a head of state.
My dad is ticked off at your dad
For letting you turn out so bad.
Now put me down, you dumb primate,
Or you’ll be sorry. Just you wait!!!
Loved this – perfectly done!
Cool!
heeHEE! Wonderful, Andrew.
Robert, Another brilliant one! Here’s mine:
Dead Lee (a monotetra)
Lee thought his aim was deadly,
posturing and spinning his gun,
as Kitty sang a medley,
‘neath noon’s hot sun, ‘neath noon’s hot sun.
In rode Dangerous Duke, the outlaw
three hundred pounds of grime.
Duke dropped Lee like a jackdaw
It sure was a crime, it sure was a crime.
This was a fun read! – Thanks!
Beware of Sparks
An ember glowing
Takes a little puff of air
To burst into flame.
Alright Robert,
You got me. This is a tough prompt thus far. I’ll try to crank one out though…
“Funny What Goes Through One’s Mind”
On that sweaty August afternoon
after I committed adultery with
the married psychobitch,
I was driving her back
to where she left her car
and I was in
the fast lane of the freeway,
trying to get this day
over with as soon as possible.
She was still trying
to convince me to ask her
to leave her husband,
but I wasn’t giving in.
Then she did this thing
I only read about
in “Penthouse” magazine
and saw alluded to
in the movies.
Let’s just say
the others drivers
thought I was alone.
I was smug,
then aroused,
and then immediately
panicked
as I realized
the accelerator
in my Honda
was revving
but not speeding up.
I instantly broke out
in a cold sweat
and I heard her
just giggling cluelessly
as she continued
making her case.
“Kim…”
“Kim…”
Then I saw it-
her chest had knocked
the gear shift
out of drive
and into neutral.
I shifted back
and half-sighed
until I saw
the taillights of
the cars ahead
of me
getting closer
faster and faster
and piling up.
Simultaneously,
I slam on the brakes
grab her by the hair
and throw her head back
into the passenger’s seat.
She laughed
with that wicked uncontainable
cackle of the truly
insane,
barely catching her breath,
“OHHH, YES!
THAT WAS GREAT!”
and there I was
parked in the fast lane
on the freeway
drenched in sweat
and jangling from adrenaline,
and the first thing that
came to mind was
“How would I have
explained that to
Allstate?”
Okay, I should TOTALLY not be laughing here, but I am ….
OH, sure, it’s funny *now*…
Hehehehe! The agent would have dined out on THAT story for MONTHS!
OMG! LOL Naughty, but funny. ^_^
Well, you wouldn’t say you were in good hands, I’m thinking;)
Aw…Jane, ya beat me to it!
And Buddah: CRACKED ME UP!
Grammar’s off, but it’s a start
Diabetes
Six times every day
I offer the pocket oracle
a drop of blood
and pray that it grant me
the sight of
my first grandchild,
my son’s wedding,
or his big graduation,
or at least his next birthday
Aw, this is so sad.
Unfortunately, it’s just my life but it could be much worse; 40 years ago they would have told me I couldn’t have a child and I love that kid to pieces
Been without Internet the last several days while traveling, but have a connection tonight… spent the day writing poems to catch up and will be posting them soon. There’s some gems in what you guys have been producing the last few days from what I’ve seen in the scraps of time there’s been to browse. (Robert: awesome use of pantoum!)
I just want to put this out there, though, and I think it’s been repeated before: you are of course entitled to your own religious and political convictions. You are of course welcome to write poems about them. But please be aware that when you share them, you may offend your readers if you’re being particularly pointed and verging on hate speech; this should not be the place for it. I’m not going to name names, it’s just something to bear in mind; might as well mention it while we’re talking about “danger”. (The risk here being a flame war on Poetic Asides, which ought to be avoided, and alienating your audience.)
This forum has always been welcoming and supportive of its writers, so please keep it that way. (And the vast, vast majority of people here do.) If you want to sling mud from behind the shield of free speech, do it on the privacy of a personal blog where it doesn’t seem so out of place. Here, it’s unnecessary and just… well, tacky.
Getting some dinner, then will be back to post.
Thank you for saying that, Joseph, and so clearly and thoughtfully. There’s been times recently where a poem has been very – unwelcoming and I’ve almost given up the challenge ; thank you for the reminder that most people here are caring, kind, and are looking for kindred poetic spirits.
“D&D”
We had our chances
to plan before diving
into the kobold’s lair.
We knew treasure awaited
because that’s the game,
and Bob kept us
coming back with rewards
as a good dungeon
master knows to do.
Otherwise, the quiet library
might have lost four
bookish boys to God
knows what other pursuits
riskier than tempting death
with our growing fictions
of an adventurer’s party.
Wow, does this bring up some memories of what now seems to me such a charming past (yes, there was room for bookish girls, too
ina, I got my wife into playing, um, we’ll go with ‘a number of years ago,’ when we met and she’s still playing with us. It’s a shame that D&D is still mostly mocked by the TV/movie industry.
Okay, now there’s a courtship
I hate delving into Kobold Lairs…they smell bad.
Have Some Wine
Beware of little old ladies who offer
you a seemingly harmless
glass of homemade elderberry
wine. If you are old and lonely,
pass right by their house; do not
visit. They have two batches,
and one is deadly. If you told
them they were dangerous,
they would giggle, and say,
but he was alone, and tired
of living, so we helped
send him, peacefully,
on his way.
Perhaps not such a bad way to go
– nicely done.
Thanks, B. Arsenic & Old Lace is an old favorite of mine.
The Monsters Inside the Closet
Daily horrors could be found,
if one just looks beyond
the shimmering, glimmering curtains
and glory of the surface,
the faces on screens and papers.
As if natural catastrophes don’t abound,
global unrest surrounds.
Political and cultural disasters,
economic calamities all over
reek of massive social disorder.
I learned of three philosophies,
though there’re tons of them, I’m sure.
Man and man in conflict.
Then nature, or god, his enemy.
And the last is when a man must face himself.
To master the last one, I think,
could prevent much tragedies,
and needless adversaries.
Men could save their unspent spirit
to withstand the real threat instead.
Nature feeds us, but all too often spews
incredibly mad outrage,
randomly taking lives with it,
regardless if they were lived
or not.
As if life isn’t hard enough, and then
there’s this awful thing called death
that I’d piled with nature’s wrath for now.
But one day I, too, shall meet my doom,
a most certainly uncertain gloom…
Yet the most terrifying thing, I think
is the last one at the brink…
when a man truly examines himself
and finds horrific stuff within,
what terrors are really made of.
WICKED ASSASSIN
Sly sniper
slithering rebel
malicious villain
encountered game
stealth move
insidious hiss
ravenous pounce
merciless kiss
ample fang’s paradise
scoundrel’s bliss
Local weather recently has inspired this one, though it suffers from the disease of author’s haste.
Never Gonna Go Away
Well thirty foot seas and hellish fifty knot winds
that’s a song that’s been sung a few times before.
About ships that went down and crews not coming home
but those songs should all have said one thing more.
Storms will rise up and storms will die down
But the danger is here to stay.
The sea and the sky are both old as time
but the danger will always remain.
Surface Appearances
We feel safe boating
In the sea
Only
Because
We
Can’t
See
The
Bottom
I confess, I was working on the “dangerous poet” but it’s not quite finished. Here’s one of my favorites from my unpublished collection.
Southern Charm
Beware the honey coated words dripping from her lips.
She’ll eviscerate you where you stand
and not get a single drop of spatter
On her linen suit or well-manicured hands.
You’ll still be smiling as she walks away
With demure, sly, downcast eyes and beguiling sway.
You’d think she was a lady.
With looks so sweet like sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth,
She’s too refined for foul words.
Her cruelty is done so cleanly,
You hardly notice or even mind
Until you turn to it later and reflect as the comment
So deftly delivered begins to fester.
It takes time to realize like a mistress of the dark,
She’s taken your essence, your free will and
You are blindly doing her bidding.
You’re not even sure why you are afraid
Of not pleasing her,
But something in her cool green eyes
Stares through you and dismisses you
With a curse disguised as a common phrase.
“Well now, bless your little heart.”
The last line really sells it!
Running With Scissors
You start out getting warned
when you are just a child.
A little slap on the wrist
may seem rather mild.
Stay clear of downed power lines.
Don’t get in cars with strangers.
Never play out in the street.
Life is full of dangers.
There’s nothing to be gained
in games of Russian roulette.
Never run with scissors
is one you won’t forget.
Warnings written everywhere
designed to help protect you.
Don’t skate on thin ice.
You won’t want to break through.
Never blow thru stop signs
on or off the road.
You may wind up carrying
a far too heavy load.
By Michael Grove
We were on a similar wave-length today. Nice one, Mike.
Thanks Jane, Yes we were!
Yesterday’s poem (kindness)
It sounded like kindness
The way the next world took Henri
Who had been turning his nose
At food for a week
Who his last day lay
With his feet in his bowl and
His head in the hay
It sounded like he was chirping
In that odd pose, that last night
A song to his guinea pig spirits
Lined up to meet him just beyond sight
Shark Diving
(from a story, and a work by Damien Hirst)
She said, they give you a wetsuit to wear and put you
inside a steel cage: Caribbean water and wires
the only armor for when they come, curiously,
swimming around this unknown complexity of prey.
On the boat, they toss hunks of bloody tuna,
russet clouding the turquoise sea, and when
fins begin to slice the wake, they shout NOW, and you
submerge yourself, watching their button eyes,
prow noses, flaring gills. The heart stops when you see
death, sleek and white, though you think– not today.
I wonder what she would think of that executioner
pickled and preserved in a spare eggshell gallery,
its aquarium a coffin, its forever forward motion brought
to a complete stop. Now the people come, curiously,
milling about the glass walls and calling it art.
What is the purpose of it, except perhaps to take
panic, dip it in salt, show it for what it is: nature, like
everything else. But probably she would say,
disarm it all you want. It’s different in the end, when
you’re the one caged, and it turns its head to face you.
I like the movement from nature to art, or rather the question of what is art and what is not. Got me thinking, and that’s a good thing
today’s poem
Gold orbs narrow to slits
In the darkness
Stalking the silence
Eliciting sleep
Unleashing
My panther-dangerous heart
Frog Legs
Summer in southern Mississippi just before turning sixteen; sent for a few weeks to the farm where most of my Father’s boyhood stories originated. Staying with his Aunt and Uncle whom had inherited the house and some of the land; ultra-religious, stern, but allowing freedom to roam. Trusted with Dad’s .22, bound and determined to rid the woods of all small creatures; managing one rabbit that we could not eat. One night the Uncle and I trekked to the small lake in the middle of the property for a country rite of passage. We loaded the flat-bottom metal boat with paddle, light, bag and gig. Not exactly a fine art, this thing called ‘gigging’, but fascinating for the growing man. Simply paddle the boat quietly in the dark, shine the light in the tall grass of the shore and thrust the gig for the shining, red eyes. Frog legs from the southern kitchen are decidedly un-French, but more delicious for the effort.
~OLD-TIMER~
Rendering, whittling
Figurine for daughter
Slip and slit
Blood and sweat
Literally a labor of love.
A FIB…..
Thorn
And Rosette
Enigma
Danger and beauty
Begetting one of another.
wow – this takes my breath – the whole the inevitable
Jane!! Thank you so much! I thought of you when I wrote of the rose. You have SO many beautiful ones and recently a pale rose with a yellow glow emerging from within. Gorgeous!
Armed
She’s got a hammer in hand
just in case he comes in again
like he has a thousand times before.
She’s got a knife in her purse
a can of mace, and a brand-new
deadbolt on the front door.
She’s got a one-way ticket
to a place where life is simple
and her face is unknown.
She’s got $637 in a cookie jar
and a 38 in the nightstand
for the day he comes home.
So scary. So true.
Toxic
You
should have come
with a warning label:
Contents may cause
blindness
amnesia
heartache.
Keep
out of reach
of
me.
Excellent, De.
I so admire the mileage you always get from each word you choose. Wonderful, De.
De, love your take on the prompt!
Perfect!
Very nice De! Love how you separated the words in the ending too.
Deadly Day
11/14/11
A mother hustled her children
ages four, seven, and nine
into her SUV
in the early-morning darkness.
“Don’t want to be late,”
she said, as she backed out the drive.
Merged into traffic
in the southbound lanes.
In a moment of distraction,
car veered into northbound lanes;
hit two trucks.
Tonight, a four and seven-year-old
no longer have a mother or sister.
I think my rhyming virus is passing. This didn’t start out to be rhymed and metered, but it took a turn. Probably the residual “fever”
Dangerous Bents
Running fast with knives, pencils or pens,
Testing our wings from highest roof of barn
Flipping a bird to tough Hell’s Angels men
Climbing a tree up to the tiny limbs
Kissing diseases wetly on the mouth
Riding the waves made at the twister’s eye
Deriding country music in the South
Petting a rabid mad dog on the thigh
Starting your grill by lighting spurts of gas
Looking down the throats of rattlesnakes
Swallowing objects your colon can’t pass
Betting loan sharks at the highest stakes.
We need an antidote for dangerous bents:
Perhaps a thimbleful of common sense.
I enjoyed this one very much Jane. Nice sequence on this sonnet.
Scene is Believin’
It is dangerous to ignore
all of the possibilities,
even the parts of religion on the wrong side
of the laws of probability
and the main ingredient of most fried doughs,
fried dough.
The brain!
Why does it insist on poison
even when it has seen the documentary,
the evening news?
It’s no wonder
we understand so little
when you account for all the down time,
the sleep and more importantly
the time spent preparing for and after sleep.
I do not want to believe
but I have been shown the receipts
and though I do not remember the dangers,
I have seen their wrappers.
Weather Report
Mindful of the dark place
in the stairwell where she
often sees him cleaning,
skirting the broom closet
with its crack of black,
she carries laundry
along a yellowed hall
to a single washer
in the basement: no time
to discuss the price of eggs,
vulnerable as a box of tacks.
Weather Report
Mindful of the dark
places in the stairwell
where she often sees
him cleaning,
she skirts the broom
closet with its crack
of black, and carries
her laundry
along the pallid hall
to a single washer
in the basement,
vulnerable as a box
of tacks: no time
to discuss the weather,
or the price of eggs.
endangered species
voice recognition
heads an all-out-war
turning a medical transcriber
into a dinosaur
to slam your fist
against a wall
in anger
is dangerous
because later
it’s painful
just to
write about it
We lived with this as children. I remember locking ourselves in our room after this. Hideous stepfather. Seriously scary.
Pingback: Breath of Fresh Air (NaNoWriMo – Day 14) « echoes from the silence
BREATH OF FRESH AIR
trudging
> one day
> > > > into
> > > > > > > the next
she hadn’t realized
dragging her feet
was so dangerous
not only was
< < < < < < < forward
< < < < movement
< almost
nil
she was
s
l
o
w
l
y
choking to death
on the sawdust
of what was
already gone
2011-11-14
P. Wanken
Mucho gusto! I like your typography experimenting and interested in your choices and how the complement the words you choose.
I mean “Me gusta mucho”
Thanks, Daniel!
I actually had a slightly different ending (format-wise) on my blog post…if you’re interested: http://whenwordsescape.wordpress.com/2011/11/14/breath-of-fresh-air-nanowrimo-day-14/
Choking on sawdust? There’s a saying that goes, “You can’t saw, sawdust.” It means what has passed, has passed. What is gone cannot be retrieved. You expressed that well, Paula. Moving forward is mysterious; an unknown thing dangerous in a way. WOW – thought provoking. Nicely done.
A Dangerous Obsession
I can’t hear a word or a phrase
in exactly the same way anymore.
I can’t read a book or a poem
without dissecting the parts
and pulling them back together,
a puzzle of words in my brain.
Fractured sounds and messages
etched neatly inside.
Kindling set afire, blazing,
sizzling through my hands
to the keys and I am obsessed.
I must confess, I didn’t always know.
I used to dream as if it could do it,
maybe, but now I lust for the moment
when I can’t stop
and the words pour out; my
page getting drunk from each word I choose,
each phrase I turn.
But, that doesn’t happen much.
Mostly I yearn, I hope, I want,
but I write anyway,
every day,
because I have
to.
The Exercist
Running on empty
Too long after dark.
It’s late, you’re exhausted,
You cut through the park.
The footsteps behind you
Approach much too fast
To react to. You scream
As you grab for your cash
And you hold it out, hollering
“Take it and go!
Just don’t hurt me, I beg you!”
You brace for the blow…
When you open your eyes
You’re alone in the dark
Trembling fist clenching cash
On the path of fresh bark.
A deep, shuddering breath
Then you mutter and turn
Back to follow the jogger.
Sheesh! When will you learn?
http://trollpants.wordpress.com
I Started This One Hobby, But Lost My Place
It’s dangerous to let your fingers, your eyes, lose their spot,
that brush of pulse that reminds you yes, thrump, thrump, thrump,
this is your blood moving through space, wobbly lines of magic highways,
signals firing a rich intent to keep on no matter what. Think it’s all for the brave?
Even the hiding response, when fight just won’t do, pounds in your ears, over
and over. Chronic hiccups sent in like some rodeo clown just to aggravate rhythm.
They tell you this auto-response isn’t all that’s cracked up to be. Just visit
the old folks home, and follow their eyes to the door. They don’t all want escape,
some just need to know, more than what’s left in their account, who’s coming in the door.
* * *
Hi.
The Beast that is “SHE”
T he eyes glare and pierce
like daggers
nostrils flare as fear is sensed
the tongue spits cold harsh words
like venom
the finger wags and scolds
victory is hers
it always was
from the start the feeble male had no chance
his love
his devotion
his kindness
his sensitivity
all count for nought
as the female of the species
rears up ready for the kill
and all because
he said
“you look fine”
Iain
Since it is always 10-12 PM here in China when I get the prompts I have to defer until morning or risk being awake all night….
My shot at the prompt:
Fireworks
The naked belly of a bank of broken clouds
Gleams in the sudden light of fireworks
A rooftop display to celebrate creation
Of another office building. Smoke Flowers
They call them here: Shimmering waterfalls, a brief galaxy
Spangling the night, bright blossoms dying too quickly
From the inside out. What a concession
It would be, my host says, to control the pyrotechnic sales
Drive away bad spirits when graves are plowed open
And then there are the weddings and funerals. I raise my glass
And toast with the others to a new China.
The waitress who looks familiar leans over to refill my glass
She knows me. I remember her mother shined shoes
In the shanty village where this building now resides
And I feel dangerously lifted high into this night
Early red dawn, then a meteor shower
And the smell of faint gunpowder
As the evening’s last sparks trickle down in silence
Still blinded by the show and a little given over to the wine
I point myself toward home. It stays quiet,
Too quiet. Like a storm is coming.
And I can barely stand, my heart
Exploding again and again
Things that Can Kill You
Lions, tigers, and grizzly bears,
rickety ladders and slippery stairs,
going skydiving with a bad chute,
telling the Mafia you took their loot,
a bungee cord that’s not short enough,
cigarettes and alcohol – poisonous stuff,
guns and knives and WMD’s,
Cancer and AIDS and all kinds of disease,
serial killers: Hannibal, Dexter,
and the latest addition – the driving texter.
Deadly Love
Dreams never come,
Every breath spent
Agonizing, waiting.
Do I die this night or
Live to face more anger, more abuse,
Yearning for an escape?
Love like this
Often ends in the inevitable:
Violent
Eternity.
Writers Beware ( a limerick)
There’s a danger in writing too much
with the world you become out of touch
so beware of the pen
put it down now and then
lest your writing turn into your crutch.
– Cara Holman
Dangerous
She knew it was forbidden.
She knew it drew her inexorable forward -
She tried several ways to stop herself.
She wanted to stop.
She needed to stop.
But she couldn’t help herself –
Her steps moved forward.
Now, at this moment -
What she thought was the last fence,
Between her and complete seduction,
Was leaning to the right, then to the left,
In the wind of this dramatic hurricane,
That was her desire.
Deadly
So many ways to die.
Automobile accident, cancer,
suicide, drugs, disease, murder.
The number of ways are infinite.
We wlll all die, but for now
we live our lives full out and steady.
Assassin
silence
sense of security
suddenly shattered
rustle of leaves
ring of steel
ripple of air
spatter of red
sting of pain
scream of agony
reel in shock
roll to the grass
relax all muscles
slipping away
shadows subside
silence
A cold front
The frozen food aisle beckons,
promising ice cream
and bliss in a box.
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Dangerous Beyond Belief
Picture if you will, before first light
In a park or a square, not unlike
That place in China some years ago
You remember the one – where
The young man was photographed
Facing off with the tank?
The audaciousness of his courage
Stayed in the minds of millions
For all time and even now
When people talk of bravery
Of standing up to the status quo
That image is mentioned …
So when word of the raids
On the “Occupy America” groups
Began filtering through the land
Leaking like silt into the streets
Or half-heard whispers in the air
Not too surprisingly, Tiananmen Square
Came to mind for many
And the image of that brave soul
Was mentioned more than once
In the vein of a cautionary tale
Often followed by:
“but nothing like that would
happen here – not here …”
Except – there are those who know
From bitter recent experience
That yes – something like that
Could well happen here
This place that has become
Both dangerous and deadly
Homeland security, while
A well-meaning phrase and ideology
Often holds oxymoronic qualities
When concerning human rights
In a country that prides itself
As being the protector
Of these very concepts
So – before the night has fully departed
And dawn not quite embraced day
Storm-trooper-types scheduled to
Will march in and indiscriminately
Dismantle and disperse peaceful
Protesters in large American cities
Because? The reasons seem unclear—
Their assemblage threatens
the American way of life?
So the story goes …
Dangerous and deadly …
Oh, I am aware it is far too late for this, but I can’t help it. So: Day 14 – deadly and/or dangerous poem
***
“So, life is deadly?” Amy asked
Somewhat disappointed of it.
“In fact, it is.” was my reply,
As I drew a new breath of wine.
And she looked, her smile empty,
Confusion yelling from her eyes
Then gripping at my throat.
“So, life is deadly?” Amy asked.
We sat like that, it seemed, for hours.
I felt our bottle was never ending.
The waitress often swept by us
Somewhat disappointed by it.
I got my glass to shatter, and so
Waved the girl to come around.
“Oh, is your bottle up already?”
“In fact, it is.” was my reply.
She stayed, then stared and laughed.
So my Amy invited her over.
I toasted, “Here’s to the meaning of life,”
As I drew a new breath of wine.
© 2011 Mariya Koleva
***
how to rid your house of ghost
***
fake your death.
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***
how to rid your house of ghost
***
fake your death.
fake mine.
Dangerous –
Bookstores offer us all
kinds of dangerous guides:
The Dangerous Book for Boys
and its necessary counterpart
The Daring Book for Girls. For
our canine friends, a parody –
The Dangerous Book for Dogs.
Those suffering demonic duress
may seek aid from The Dangerous
Book for Demon Slayers although
exactly what’s between its covers
I don’t know. On a different note
perhaps someone ought to write
The Dangerous Book for Poets.
and the serpent said…
by juanita lewison-snyder
he bound my wrists and ankles with
a flick of his tongue, rough with the
saliva of a thousand piranhas.
and although i can not see his actual head
i can feel it in the shadows of my pupils,
jaws large enough to swallow me whole.
its iridescent green topside
wrinkles pale underneath,
its scales armored and menacing.
blood rises to the surface of my
face and neck with each squeeze,
my lungs are on the verge of collapsing.
“it’s out of your hands now,”
he hisses, “ball is in play,”
loved ones roulette through my brain.
i can’t remember how i got to this point
but i’m suddenly filled with remorse and guilt;
it swishes like bile in my teeth.
i fight and struggle to wake from this dream
but know deep down i can never leave this place
and that another will perish because of me.
i have nothing left with which to bargain,
my pride rolled the dice on that too.
i hate that this serpent has bested me.
© 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
The Most Dangerous Thing
Thoughts
Can start wars
Can turn friends to foes
Can make difference dangerous
Silos seem to shelter missiles
Thoughts are the true
WMDs
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“Enough”
“Enough!”
she yells, flashing
daggers from darkened eyes
finally silencing the mouths
that whisper ‘you are weak’ into her ear.
Full of fear, yet still fierce, she speaks,
“There’s no anger like this
and blood isn’t
enough.”
Capital Punishment
For a few days
I’ve watched
the red squirrels
playing in the trees
Up and down, chattering
non-stop. Moles
have tunnelled
the lawn. The dog
chases them in vain.
It’s March and my tulips
send up tender shoots
pointy and green
against dead leaves
and winter’s other detritus.
So, before buds
are eaten away, hostas
chomped to the ground,
I put out poisoned rat cakes.
My delicate as orchid sensibilities
not at all horrified
by the writhing deaths
of chipmunks,gophers
and other flower eating wildlife.
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