Seeking a shred of purpose
to pass the remaining time
or play with dark spots
and flashes of thunder
and dreams of vespers?
Tenderly rummaging through memories of bones
and promises of fragile enchantments.
Who awaits us in the elder's shadow?
Who awaits us, winged spirits with swollen faces
after we have consumed the last refuge
of weary scribblers?
Once upon a time there was a wise seeker of sincere glances,
who eavesdropped on the wind, trail of voices of
sleepless bankers and spied the metal-coloured auroras,
to unearth the treasures of the caravans
of eager young people, never attentive
to the fate of the objects of memory.
He found no joy, but fell asleep
on the bankers' doorstep
with the complicit gaze of the young
We went on a boat ride
on the Ohio.
The river boat
paddled almost to the Mississippi
then it turned
ever so slowly into the night.
The dark steps of the waves
drowned our words.
We eavesdropped
on a language put together
from the splashed glances
of the moon.
It was all so barely concealed
a part submerged affair
we were having
with the shadowy heat
the slow churning depths.
My sweet baby sister (AKA the traitor)
Has radars for ears and the mind of a spy,
She eavesdrops, twists facts, and then tattletales,
And proudly serves mom an elaborate lie.
I sweet talked, I begged, I bribed then I threatened,
Locked her in the bathroom and turned off the light,
I secretly hoped that she would get better:
It got better indeed, not sis, but her spite!
She listened in to the private confession
About the boy crush that I shared with a friend,
She posted it promptly on-line, no discretion
No mercy, no sisterhood! Viral it went!
That sure was the last camel back-breaking straw!
Eavesdropped and Exposed!!!- an egregious offence!
Should be charged, prosecuted and punished by law,
With no chance of parole, appeal or defense!
December, 14, 2019
Wicked whispers, like hisses,
slithered throughout the office
when the disliked departed for the day.
Rotten hysteria blared
like beastly blasts.
Louder their voices leaped
as they could see that she was gone.
Like following lost sheep,
on and on they'd bleep
about her crazy ways,
her annoying voice,
her ogre odor,
her misfit outfits and
a myriad of mindless ramblings.
My conscience wanted to stop them,
to stomp on their every word,
but my speech was stilled
in impactful silence.
Suddenly she scampered back,
secretly weaving toward
her forgotten sweatshirt,
draped upon her rolling chair
where whispers
gnawed like moths.
She grabbed it with a snap
then whisked away.
I wondered, with
empathic embarrassment,
how much damaging slander
she had overheard.
12-13-19
There once was a young lady from Merced
Who eavesdropped on what other people said
Ears did ring
News did bring
What some people said about her she heard
If you've ever seen Ca' Rezzonico
seeming quite to float
upon the Grand Canal
as you bob in a boat,
or if you've ever eavesdropped
in some Trastevere alley
some golden afternoon
on some tenor's voice a-sobbing
beneath an early moon,
or in Andrea della Valle
breathed in Puccini's subtle chords,
you'll know that life affords
no more sacred boon.
Recondita armonia, literally.
If you've taken in
Albinoni's Adaggio
or gnocchi con formaggio
in a loggia on the Arno
or the slopes of Montepulciano,
or walked in misty thunder
the olive groves of Cennina,
or sat in wordless wonder
in the theater of Taormina,
or witnessed Piero's frescoes
in San Francesco of Arezzo,
or breathed the morning sunlight
or Mascagni's Intermezzo,
seen summer rain in torrents
come laughing down the street,
then you'll know why
or looked down upon fair Florence
like a carpet at your feet,
Italians set at variance
themselves and us,
and call us The Barbarians.
Planet of the Grapes
and so the grapes
conspired
met in secret bunches
eavesdropped
on the vintners
during their
wine sipping lunches.
too win we must
subvert their minds
causing loss of focus
torturously tenderize
rendering it “mocus”.
we must accept
our crushing fate
entombment in the
vintners cellar
convince them
their dreams absurd
are absolutely stellar.
we’ll infiltrate
the highest realms
of the intelligentsia
cripple them
in brain cell death
of alcohols dementia.
they will tend
the very vines
that nurture revolution
unknowingly
complicit in
our forty proof solution.
John G. Lawless
10/18/2014
For the “Words – The Heart of Imagination?” – Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Brian Johnston