Welcome to our week 3 poetry preview for the website. Some of the poetry has been fished from the past and a couple are new inspirations from my mysterious muse. Please utilize this website to post your own poetry or short stories in the Forum. This is your opportunity to share with our art community and friends and fellow poetry enthusiasts.
Anthony has introduced an Art Library of his incredible artistic renderings that have accompanied my poetry, which have made my work come to life. Click on the "Art" tab to view his renderings. I also invite you to follow along with the spoken word feature tab accompanying the poem. The spoken word feature is also an advantage for the visually impaired to enjoy our website.
As a reminder if you are enjoying our website adventure please share our posts across your social media feeds. The response from our readers continues to be overwhelming and we are committed to improving with each new weekly update. Thank you for your continued support. It has been overwhelming to see so many friends from the past reconnecting!
Included in the release of this blogs content is the following:
Hell On Wheels
Decades recalled
as if only moments passed.
The distant future
wasn’t in our expectations
of tomorrow.
We made no plans,
we were busy
all consuming
in the here and now
of today.
With no expectation
of our extinction
we left ourselves vulnerable
without an escape route.
Racing headlong in oblivion
we rode our codependence
with abandoned.
In grand Hollywood
romance style
our relationship
would not simply
dissolve.
As explosive as we lived
so we died.
Gloriously
painful,
dramatically
conflicting.
Locomotives
speeding at suicide speed,
crowds
gathered at
appointed time
and place,
the locomotives
of our lives
raced toward each other.
The crowd was not disappointed.
EARTH DAY
The sun dragged itself
like a road grader
across the barren August sky,
scaring and searing the earth below.
Dog days would be a relief
to what the heavens were offering;
a prophetic hellish scene of Dante’s reality.
Those few,
those lucky few who could still travel
sought temporary relief in Death Valley.
Unbearable climes below sea level
were temperate in these intemperate times
of misery and global confusion.
Mankind was paying the price for its choices
resulting in no option
other than human remains
presenting as burn spots on the charred soil.
Relief was nye impossible as the devil laughed a duet
to the audible screaming of unholy heat
escaping the strangled gasps of the quickly dying
who soon, agonizingly not soon enough,
would be relieved of their pain, only
to leave the planet continuing to suffer unfathomable agony.
Trees,
buildings,
plastics,
all living, every inanimate blending
cooking
a massive swirling conglomerate of detritus
coating the surface of this, our home
until
until the blue hue of Mother Earth
conceded defeat
ultimately regressing to the
lifeless third stone from the sun
covered in the goo of mankind’s consciousness.
We had a choice.
We chose poorly.
Happy Earth Day.
THE BARGE TO STYX
Where do the insane go when they die?
Is there a special heaven or hell
awaiting the mentally not well?
White lie insane to criminally insane
are the guidelines of madness
capable of inflicting exhaustive pain
and hellacious sadness.
But where do they go in the afterlife?
The devil doesn’t have time to deal with idiosyncratic
mental maladies, it would take up too much
of his valuable time with such
satanic formalities.
Is there a notice posted at the pearly gates in heaven
directing the insane,
the afflicted,
the homeless
the colored,
the wandering poet,
the undiagnosed
to the Pearly Prejudices Entrance around back?
(…follow the yellow line to the blue line…)
Punishment Guidelines & Definitions:
White Lies?
A sin, (regardless of the color of the lie)
ENTRANCE DENIED!
Criminally Insane?
ENTRANCE DENIED!
Morally Insane?
ENTRANCE DENIED! see addendum:
Addendum: Probation & Restitution;
(consideration possible…TBD)
What is the place where the insane will dwell?
Together?
Certainly not, as the strong would prey upon the weak.
And we couldn’t have that in Heaven
as it is on earth!
But where DO they go?
Old Joe, a White Lie Story Teller
(Heaven help his soul).
Once, repeatedly he explained:
“back in the olden days
the less mentally fortunates
were stripped naked outta their clothes and sins.
We ain’t saw ‘em since.”
History dictates each are escorted
to Kharon, a Louisiana Barge out of New Orleans
(the official Insanity Way Station).
Tugs always at the ready!
Chairs of questionable comfort we’re made available
for the long slow downstream boat ride.
Pulling away from the pier
the unfortunates, ever puzzled
yet delighted
in the insanity of it all,
never question the large crowd
come to see them off.
From behind Trinity Church Mother Superior
turns a cheek in shame.
Drifting further downstream
every church steeple of Jackson Square genuflects
at the uncertainty the unfortunates face.
As the passengers drift along
Representatives of the Holy Roman Empire
line their balcony giving dismissive blessings
while toasting from bottomless cups filled with Christ’s blood,
feasting on the Eucharist as lunch time bells peal the sins
of man without a blink or care.
The bishop, feasting in private, avoiding acknowledgment of the
insane spectacle drifting below his palace, as so directed in the Bishop Handbook.
Molesting altar-boys was not covered
in last year's handbook so he failed to not consider it a sin.
White Lie Insane?
A little insane?
A lot insane?
Criminally Insane?
Morally Insane?
Or not insane enough not to be denied entrance
to his blessed beyond?
He knew how and when to be forgiven,
but what of the insanity
he inflicted?
The unfortunates, oblivious in mind and deed,
ride their river barge downstream to the confluence of the Styx
to the unknown afterlife
out of sight,
out of mind,
literally.
TIL DEATH DO I PART
Do not take me yet death.
I do not fear you,
I fear but only
what I will miss
and still selfishly desire.
The road
which brought me here
is filled with
love and joy,
triumph and loss,
accomplishment and too often sloth.
Upon this road
I stand
no longer envisioning
future trials and decisions.
Here the road ends,
upon it
I am stranded.
Yesterday is complete
tomorrow no longer offers
insight of expectation.
So, I stand waiting.
Waiting?
(Sloth raising its prickly head)
I cannot find my way
facing a tomorrow I cannot foretell.
No direction
nor purpose
beckons my call.
Life has come to a halt
even as the future
of my children’s children
face the adventure of life ahead
like the meadow
or forest of trees
yet to be explored.
Death do not take me yet
even though my life
is overfilled
and its offerings
taken advantage of.
When young
I could foresee
my way
my trail,
my destiny.
Now, I stand motionless
wanting not this path
to end.
Death do not take me yet
for I am too selfish for you.
I am incapable of
and unable to lay down
just to let you take me
without a fight.
Email Deb: deb@dwolfdesigns.net
Comments