Long Stealthily Poems
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“There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.” Shakespeare in Hamlet
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Augury
As the shine of the sun sets down
In the far away horizon
In villages as in the towns
And dusk stealthily makes its dawn,
The sky awhile pivots to pink
While clouds wafted by woeful winds
Seem in the firmament to blink
Racing across the sky with spleen.
Does the pink sky augur a storm,
Tempest, typhoon or tornado
That may buildings and trees deform
Without a tinkle of ado!
Does it herald devastation
Of fauna and flora on land,
Of harvest and cultivation
And rocking of boats on the sand!
Nature seems to have its own way
To admonish human beings
To hold their boats firmly at bay
And arouse their inner feelings
To keep those near and dear to them
In safety and security
Until the end of the mayhem
Heralded by the augury.
To scoff inklings of such omens
Is to invite spates of worries
From the clutches of a demon,
Let one`s ship sink in the deep sea,
Allow storms to set one`s house flat,
Disregard clues from the divine,
Let the wild winds whip off one`s hat
And snub signals from the sublime.
Dragon sat in the bushes all night long, for he wanted to catch himself a Leprechaun.
See Leprechauns have gold by the buckets full, and Dragon wanted himself… some.
So our sly little Dragon had put a lit up rainbow, on our garage door, to be cast on…
St. Patrick’s Day was in the morning, and he wanted some of those golden charms.
He’d read: You gotta get up, so very early, to be able, to even a little, trick those guys.
For those wily Leprechauns are the cleverest critters, which were ever seen… to arise.
So Dragon had dressed up in the Irish green, topped with a cute little Leprechaun hat.
You see, Dragon believed he was, the slyest thing, put on this earth, here… ever… yet.
Sure enough, at the break of dawn… a Leprechaun came snooping, stealthily around.
Strangely, he looked about 3 years old, the same age of our Dragon, or there, around.
They hit it off immediately, with so much in common, at that tender age and time.
Finally together, they dug up the pot of gold, which the Leprechaun’s magic did rise.
They had decided to share the wealth, of any gold, they did hope to some how find
But darn, the Leprechaun was unhappy, at the small amount of gold before his eyes.
He swore our Dragon had dug it up early, and already taken his own share… after all…
Dragons were known to be the greediest things ever put on this earth, he did recall.
Yes, he’d seen thru Dragons disguise, and had seen the wily-ness of it all… so true…
So the Leprechaun threw a crying hissy fit, the likes of which Dragon had never knew.
He raged on and on, how his new best friend could ever think to cheat him, Boo Hoo!
Now, Dragon began to feel very guilty for what he had originally, truly, wanted to do.
So in the end he gave it all away, to his newest best friend, who left without an adieu.
At that our dear little Dragon, felt proud for what he had finally achieved and done.
That is until he looked at his own little bitty horde of gold… that was suddenly gone!
Yep the little Leprechaun, had stolen it fast away! With his magic he had transferred…
Dragons gold to the Leprechauns beloved pot! Now Dragon became enflamed at it all!
At what the Leprechaun had done… Until Grandpa Troll reminded him with the moral:
Don’t be surprised… if you get burned… when you play with fire, my little friend!
The End!
Written 3-17-2017
There is an antique writing desk
in my little study
handed-me-down
from generations of would-be
writers in my family
And there are ancient creatures
from days gone by
living in this old desk still
evil, larcenous little creatures
envious of literary skill
This explains much
Lately, I have caught them unawares
aghast, thought I imagined them
but they are really there
surly, sinister, repugnant creatures
in my writing desk
There's a putrid little jerk,
called Pernishicus who lurks
behind the piles on my desk
glorying in the mess
a malevolent, grimy-mauve gremlin
Who preys on newly created works
stealthily spraying them
with foul feculence
as soon as I commence
my writing-
...Sometimes missing slightly
and tagging my hand
making it hard to stand
myself (much less my writing)
for days on end
Then there's a creepy
mesmerizing fiend
they call Spelbadger
a translucent thing, quite obscene
who shifts in the shadows and purrs
With dark eyes deep- constantly changing
like stones from mood-rings
set in his skull
he psychically bullies,
intimidates and muddles
until my poor brain
is worn and dull
And perhaps worst of all
is that one, Grumblesleaze
with pale, glowering eyes diseased
a gray-green, mangy looking thing
whose famous quirk
is that he has the gall
to grouse about my work...
As he viciously shreds it
then glunshing and munching
greedily devours it all
leaving no note
or trace of remembrance
of my past brilliance
behind
Oh, out of spite
he might leave a few
of my ill-penned
unfortunate lines
I planned to cut anyway
or pull my worst attempts
from the waste-can
and lay them out
to remind me of my failures
Yes, this explains much
For there was only one before
our one lone ancestor
who was able to write
at this desk prolifically
tapping out volumes rather heroically
'Though tiresome and tedious
dry history and drivel
which, no doubt, shrank and shriveled
and lulled these creatures off
to sleep for years
Until we woke them up
broke their hibernation
with more interesting stories
and imagination, colorfully crafted
ingenious, piece after piece
Clicking and clacking away
on typewriters, keyboards
generation after generation
of irritatingly gifted writers
disturbing their peace
it had to cease...
Top shelf cologne exhibits sensual tail of peacock
Entrances my senses at our eleven a.m embrace
Eyes shut, my erratic stamina borrows comfort
Curled into leather front seat, chest inhales safe
Our waterfall guffaws cascade in establishments of stature
Grilled salmon, staple lunch, gregarious wine supports us
Role's novelty and glitz incessantly scratches my rapture
Unorthodox allure makes mockery of standard formulas
Indirect looks from diners, behind raised glasses, warped
Solid gold arrogance declares benefits blatantly displayed
Society fears breaking the mould, glued to ordinary course
Our acquired theme sustains disdain for lifestyles staid
Ocean boulevard grandeur sees counterpart meshed potential
Sleek topless travel exalts unfelt mist, road gloss moisture
Your life thickened fingers amorously grasp my thigh's tender
I agree to be owned, an ornament connects material pleasure
When the Polstar slows to crawl of steady tiger, stealthily slips
mid afternoon into carpark of your harbour side apartment
Disparagement wedges beneath my ribs, not having envisaged
aerobics of limber mayhem, loosened make-up, not just yet
Smug expression hugs your face, read in tight lipped pressure
I assert my plan to showcase new swimsuit may now be ruined
"Absolutely promise, gorgeous, there's no chance you'll regret."
My climbing premonition messages a gem of genuine
Ponytail splayed against mirrored wall of elevator
Ardent kissing's conclusion resurfaces your chivalrous
Door barely closed before I pouncing kitten paw you
Your flailing indicating a spare key cut for me, erroneous
"My doll, my dear desirable, the key is incompatible."
Mysterious grimace molests your face, causing me to frown
"Did the rum with lunch rupture your remaining brain cells?!"
Fatherly pats of my arms speak a decoy which confounds
Journey up two flights, could it be... heart in throat
Silenced keys caress sweat sodden peeled open palm
Your anticipating stare burns my back, unopposed
Oh, justify me - yes! - the door complies on demand
"Neighbour, do you like it?" superfluous inquiry smiling
Floating eight stories above glint of yacht metropolis
Invited by windows handing out reviving hold of horizon
Violent screams likely deafen you, interjected with frantic kisses
In the digital landscape of TikTok, scammers operate stealthily, strategically identifying their targets within vulnerable demographics—specifically, older Generation X users. Each profile is analyzed meticulously, revealing weaknesses that can be exploited. The anticipation builds as the scammer initiates contact, contemplating who will be ensnared next.
“Will she be my next target?” he reflects, as the initial engagement elicits a promising response: “Sure, count me in.” This raises a question of accountability in a game that resembles Russian roulette, fraught with risks on both sides.
The scammer initiates the conversation with manipulative charm: “Greetings, gorgeous! What’s your name? Where are you from? I have seen the signs of opportunity.”
His subsequent messages reveal a formulaic script designed to elicit emotional investment: “Could you be the one I’ve been searching for? The crucial piece in my heart’s puzzle?” When moments of silence ensue, he prompts, “Hello? Are you still there? Let’s continue our discussion.”
The language employed is rife with metaphor: “You shine like a star, yet I hold your wings.” The transition to a more secure messaging platform, such as WhatsApp, is an intentional maneuver aimed at bypassing TikTok's monitoring mechanisms. He nonchalantly suggests exchanging contact information, self-identifying with playful anonymity as “lover, lover.”
The nature of the communication implies a predatory mindset: “Lingerie or satin? To me, it makes no difference.” The scam artist masquerades as a fabricated identity—a “Nigerian king”—exemplifying the archetype of a rogue operator in the online ecosystem. The shared traits among these scammers highlight a systematic approach, appealing to the fleeting desires of unsuspecting individuals seeking connection.
Currently, he manages multiple admirers simultaneously, each vying for attention in this digital charade. The fluctuations of interaction underscore a transactional view of affection, framed as an authoritarian relationship—“Oh, what a night! Oh, what a dictator.”
**Advisory Note:** Elderly Generation X users must exercise heightened vigilance against online impostors. With economic instability as a backdrop, they remain prime targets for unscrupulous actors operating in the digital realm.
There are times when the demon in us stealthily it appears...
How else I get to explain why I did what I did when life is so dear...
How can I explain away my flaunting of a basic safety driving rule...
It is dangerous to overtake vehicles while going downhill...
So it happened, the devil took over my steering wheel this day...
Speeding downhill, two automobiles I overtook rather easily...
At this speed I can take on one more vehicle, that oncoming car is so distant...
I pressed a little more on my accelerator, my double cabin truck shot forth..
That oncoming car, God! There's not enough distance to clear this overtake...
Stay cool, don't panic! Softly and steadily I eased down on my foot brake....
This vehicle I seek to overtake, its speed is much faster than my initial take...
In that split second, dire realisation struck home, you cannot clear this overtake..
Do I brace for impact, trusting in the good Lord, as the oncoming car grew in sight..
In a flash, I'll to trust the good Lord but I did a quick hard swerve to the right...
I'm through Lord! I was right to swipe across to the right to go for the side.....
Then that jarring impact, what's happening, my grip is firm on the steering wheel...
I'm thrown about, splintered glass rained upon me as I wondered will my car stop..
Felt my car heavily crashed through scrubs, saplings and bushes trying to stop..
Absolute silence, dazed comprehension, I'm in a collision, am I alright...
Slowly reached for the ignition, switched off, thankfully I felt alright...
Gingerly, reached across and released my safety belt, feeling no pain..
Cautiously, fearing broken bones or gaping wounds, I took stock again...
Praise the Lord, I feel alright, there's no pain nor bloodied spots...
Miraculously, I think I did alright as I reach to open my car door...
Half in daze, relief welling inside, slowly I let out my right leg outside...
Carefully placed my right foot down, gingerly eased out onto solid ground..
A numbed but relieved mind in me whispered softly, I think you made it...
God in heavens, I have gone through a high speed crash and survived...
Safe I am, this time...!
In my country, drivers are seated right and slow drive is on the left...unlike
Continental driving in the reverse...
I close my eyes and I hear a sound,
Running water, joyful and unbound.
Leaping and roaring, swirling and swishing,
Loud slaps of waves crashing.
But the chaos yet fuels peace within me,
As I close my eyes and let my mind see.
Past the horizon, beyond the mundane,
My mind wanders off as I hear the sound of the rain.
Pitter patter of raindrops on the window sill,
Exuding calm as I stand still.
The raindrops purge the earth and all within,
Washing away my wrongs and my sins.
And I envision dew drops, sparkling and profound,
As they fall from blades of grass, purifying the ground.
And I find that sheer joy I can’t deny
Myself to feel through my mind’s eye.
And I can hear the wind howling through the trees,
Taking with it the seeds and the leaves,
It ruffles the feathers of the birds flying high,
The feel of freedom none other can satisfy.
A dazzle of colour, gray, green and blue,
Circling and singing a melodious hue.
And such are the birds that sail the air free,
That in my mind’s eye I vividly see…
And far off, I hear the fain song of a bird,
Ecstatic that the sun is now peeping at the world.
The first rays pierce through the darkness to reach the earth,
Lighting up a vibrant world, increasing its worth.
I can hear the pigeons cooing and the monkeys chattering,
Each one expectant and eager for a new beginning.
And a benevolent sun does smile down upon us,
Through my mind’s eye I can see him relish the early morning rush.
And through my mind’s eye, I witness time pass by,
As the sun hides his head under the blanket of his great bed.
And like the mice who play while the cat is away,
The moon peeps over the dark forlorn cloud
And invites a din magnificent and loud,
Of hidden creatures, loyal to the dark,
But beautiful and graceful like the singing lark.
With their voice like melody, they dance and fly,
This is what I see through my mind’s eye.
Animals of prey gear up for the hunt,
They move about stealthily, nighttime has begun.
An eerie silence reigns all around,
Such peace is very difficult to be found.
And again time flies as if on wings,
And the sun rises once more to brighten up things.
It seta again making way for the night,
My mind’s eye has shown me the most wonderful sight.
Ah, the glorious damned winter
and the inviting
gray chill in the air.
I meander
ever
so
slowly
past lawns
strewn
with a cluttered array
of pagan snow zombies -
staring blankly,
as I obliterate pint-sized
snow angels
failing to don halos
that could have easily been
brush stroked with
da Vinci's golden teardrops.
(Impoverished attention-getters)
"I suggest you peruse Alighieri’s 'Inferno' –
it may, at least, promote heat - if not hope!"
(Simpletons)
Frost continues to cloud my spectacles -
thick and relentless
eagerly permeating the glass -
endeavoring to dance
a feverish Fantasia foxtrot
upon the skins of my pupils.
My heavy feet scuffle
past these endearing peasants.
Bleak…frozen…
forgotten Mt. Everest tombstones.
Disgraced outcasts of embarrassment -
smashed against a stark white canvas
hands cut off –
sticking out their parched tongues
begging for alms.
Click and count.
Their fragile bodies so much alive
their dark, hallowed eyes
so
much
dead.
(So be it)
They stealthily huddle alone -
(Hah! I’ve created my own personal oxymoron!)
These gruesome street urchin waifs -
Dumber than a sackful of hammers and
frostier than a Maine Christmas morn,
convulsing and shivering ‘neath lampposts
without snow shoes or socks,
bawling and boo-hooing...
“Clutching weather-worn copies
of James Hilton’s 'Lost Horizon'
and littering the virgin snow
with salty saline discharge –
igniting street corner bonfires
without the faintest hint of smoke."
(Wasteful)
Ah, the glorious damned winter
and that magnificent gray chill in the air.
My arctic thighs carry me home now
where I am safe.
Where I can slam my door
and shut my eyes.
My cavernous domicile
whereas I can privately converse
with Mr. Dickens and Mr. O’Neill
and read “A Christmas Carol”
or “The Iceman Cometh” -
without a snaggle-toothed interruption...
Listen to the haunting strains of L’Inverno
from Vivaldi’s “Le Quattro Staggioni”
and cackle wildly as I burn first editions
of Clement Clark Moore’s
most infamous penning -
pour myself a
tall glass of ice cubes -
devour a heaping bowl
of vichyssoise -
scarf down a fudgcicle
and just...
turn the air conditioner
ON.
We were once a pair of flying, floating, diving doves
Warming on wintry days under weathered wooden eaves
We swayed and swirled with ecstatic, electric pleasure.
In synchronized steps to the rising and lilting measure,
We meandered down meadows, gathering magnolia flowers
We roamed and rambled, resting under roomy bowers
We watched life’s swirling and twirling ebb and flow
We waited eager to grab life’s evanescent, ethereal glow
We never knew arrows sting or sorrow’s depth
Each merry morn, for us, was love’s lovely rebirth
We walked close to paths celestial and supernal
And lived and dallied in thoughts of love eternal
But how soon I lost the rhyme n’ rhythm of life
Dropped into a weary world with worries rife
Became a bent, broken reed far beyond repair
With no songs sung to be tuned or played ever
I had no clue why you had so hastily and stealthily left me
I found myself drifting and drowning in a dreary sea
I have been under despondent delusion and deep despair
Thought that our love was cracked and wrecked beyond all repair
Until you let me know what had transpired behind the scene
And told, you still love me and look longingly to make me your queen
To make everything a sweet surprise for me and for everyone,
You went to a far forlorn land for a living, but had none
On false charges, got detained and delayed in a refugee camp
Where you had access to none, was taunted and treated like a tramp
Now that you have a decent job and can stand on your feet
You would come to take me as your wife and would soon retreat
Now I count my days and weave dreams on dreams
Of the time you will come to darn the torn and tattered seams
When you proudly proclaim once more in my attentive ear
You are my devout darling, my all time legitimate lover
Each wayside flower brings to me your long lost, lovelorn face
The wind swayed lilacs and lilies reflect your gorgeous grace
On sordid silent nights, as the odor of your body and hair
Comes winging and wafting, for a while, I feel you are near
March.19.2022
~ Placed First~
My Lost and Found Love Poetry Contest
Sponsor- JCB Brul
Resubmitted for Alliteration- Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Joseph May
Nascent pristine hopes sprout stealthily
from the submerged swamps of anxieties,
parched earth frets over consequences
to fuel naive hopes into realities of void
burdened with the clutter of aged promises,
fervent wind denies hope to flourish
effervescence of faith sustains the sapling.
I shiver at my failed encounters,
lost desires from broken promises;
you radiate truth with a divine Aurora
calming my perturbed oceans of scars,
soothing whispers dissolving delusions.
Your promise of a love that lasts forever
blooms with my infant hope born yet again
in my ancient orchard of disappointments,
perhaps hope is an everlasting promise too.
When my hallucinations overtake my existence
you bridge my fantasies with visible world
and fuse my bliss with your intuition.
Unfulfilled promises, superfluous allegations
in a world where none volunteers to be a promise.
You erase my hazy visions of torn pages
and color them with your dripping love.
Two parallel waves in unison moving forth
rising with crests and falling with troughs
merging in the tranquility of a shore afar
next to the ocean enchanted by seagulls
guiding my lost spirit in storms with your light.
My hopes have grown into a lush fir tree
swaying with your glistening smiles.
You become my universe peeking into imaginations
of my stories, melodies, musings at nights;
and when I return to reality you wait
with my sublime corner by your side,
my book of musings flourishes by your essence.
Perhaps humans should keep their promises,
I believe theirs too get fulfilled someday.
I smile every time the fir tree drenches me
dissolving the fragrance of musk-soaked love
in raindrops and snowflakes of your promise--
To be the love that retains the existence of
everlasting hope in this world-- your promise..
May 28, 2020
The Promise Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Winner: First Place
BRIAN'S CHOICE Z,any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Winner: Honorable Mention