scathing heat followed
by unexpected d
o
w
n
pour
verdancy p r o l o n g e d
Shackled; survival serves simple submissives.
Superficial, sedentary surfaces.
Sinister, savage snakes.. seething scoundrels.
Snared, subtly struggling, sage surrenders.
Scathing slaps. Stone cold slab.
Sacred synergy. Soothing seductive sages.
A
person
at times can
feel like they are
a casualty
of cruelty, at least
in some small way or other.
Some attacked my early writing.
Their scathing reviews I can’t forget,
yet I persisted doing what I do.
Not letting oneself feel defeated is
the only way to continue - but
your cruelty, my love, hurt worse.
You did not want to read my
special poem, so you
threw it to the floor.
It felt like you
were stomping
on my
heart.
The poet is a physician of sorts
tending care to the physical
of his craft -- His patients, the
hearts and souls of humanity --
Latching belts on sleds of words
a-summit he descends, precariously
no safe tracks when in lyric free-fall
Altitudes and scathing depths
are the wails and screeches of
his siren journey down -- when and
where, a dicey pit travel...critics
offer no parachutes...and his lovers
often unavailable, amending their
own wrong steps. Can a writer really make
it safely to the other side, through the creative
pressures of ever revolving mantles and imperative
crushing cores!?
The blues you squeeze into your song.
Without the grays, you don’t belong.
The saxophone tonguing your grief;
Downward, the tears’ a scathing relief.
Turquoise battling the heavy waves.
The flautist, grave, somberly braves
The crashing shore of lighthouse lore.
Sudden widows - the sea keeps score.
The notes of navy grooves and plays
The composite of the ships ablaze.
Without the grays you don’t belong.
The blues you squeeze into your song.
The cobalt reed, a salty taste.
The blues strum strings around your waist.
The drums continuous throbbing;
Aperture of buoys sobbing.
Downward, the tears’ a scathing relief.
The saxophone tonguing your grief.
The blues you squeeze into your song.
Without the grays, you don’t belong.
How much of love is longing’s dream
A sheltered search to fill a need
Peering from beneath the gray of doubt
And yet devoid of fear save self
A kite-less string attempts to fly
Spurred on as scented winds pass by
For love is neither string nor kite
Nor tinder’s ever-present flame
Nor passion’s scathing conflagration
She is a touch, this seductress
A slightly trembling growl
A flash of light through the gray
She is a softness etched in stone
A hardness willing to be shaped
A blending of the needs of now
She is an ever-changing dream
A feather caressing an anvil
A chisel softly shaping a heart
For if love is not our longing’s dream
Why sleep amid the tinder and flame
Whispering “I love yous” to the wind
A course-correction knife was plunged too late.
A smile was still, upon her lips, that date.
Clueless, for most of life, the cherries, green.
Her shoulder-bluffs and high-peak cheeks are seen.
She stands five feet, barely a statue-bold.
Appears quite warm with bundled arms of gold.
A pointed thumb at chest level. A charm
Bracelet does shake with silver-fake alarm.
The lyrics play a lycra-schmooze with stretch.
Uncanny walking cane, amidst homestretch.
A slide puzzle, her wrinkles crash and burn.
Only then, girl, a happenstance upturn.
A giving tree, with scathing sack of seed.
The dandiest scatters of yellow weed.
A field not quite a rose, with weaker stems.
A chosen path amidst headstones - few gems.
But remembered, oh yes. Her name engraved
and youthful picture set. ‘Tis what she craved.
When dragons ruled the atmosphere
gliding here, and then flying there.
No battle waged on kingdoms where
the magical beasts made their lair.
The wind blew strong beneath their wings,
whispering wise, wizardly things.
As though angelic chorus sings,
their smoky song of solace brings.
Calling for calm against the wrongs
that other beings flung in throngs.
Let us live and sing soothing songs!
This land to everyone belongs!
"Peace!" They implored throughout the sky.
In formation, they flew close by
signaling in soft lullaby
that fearful others heed their cry.
Though they flew throughout darkened set
of sun and rise of moon – not yet!
Scathing hate spewed from whom they met.
Unwilling hearts to live and let!
For love cannot walk away
From a searing pain
Scathing its senses
Nor flee the distress
Of fractured tears
Dried at their origin
Thus, does it hide
Within a bit of humor
A silly dance
A chided rebuke
Of memory’s kisses
For love cannot walk away
For it is love
Not a sappy swoon
Destined to wither
In the heat of passions angst
Nor a butterfly
Afloat on wind-blown wings
It will at times shriek loudly
Into the raging darkness
Of billowing despair
Weep softly in the absence
Of a failing presence
Curse in angered arrogance
its fate of loving
And yet it will endure
For love cannot walk away
Sunshine Boy, Sunshine Boy,
Drowning in the rain,
Waiting for the sun to kiss,
Your vaunted gravy train.
Racing for the Hall of Fame,
You found the finish line,
Winning in the wonderment,
Of Thee and Thou and Thine.
Surfing on the Silver Sea,
Of storybook and rhyme,
Mount Olympus victory,
Without a myth to climb.
Sleepy eyes and lullabies,
And milky ways in space,
Stretch across the universe,
And settle on your face.
Sunshine Boy, Sunshine Boy,
Many tears ago,
Did you lose the victory,
Beneath the virgin snow.
You broke the beaming hero,
In the race to win the past,
And lost the winning slipper,
In a stormy overcast.
Your sage is like the scandal,
Of a million scathing scars,
A pocketbook of fading faith,
Instead of falling stars.
The vortex of your virtue,
Is a vain and vaunted best,
A relic of your sacrament,
Without an honored guest.
The clouds are clapping near you,
But the crowd is unimpressed,
The morning dew is melting,
For the jester and the jest.
Sunshine Boy, your glory,
Is the story of our dreams,
But fate is not a fashion,
When you linger in the seams.
Take a bunch of fine musicians
All ready to play and entertain
With a gig miles away
And you have folk train.
Add a bunch of supporters
A pint or two of ale
And you have all the makings
Of a very memorable tale.
Between trains in Manchester
In a pub both basic and rough
When Mc Garry issued his words
Terry do some left wing stuff
So I performed my poem,
About politicians that we’d got
Paying scathing attention to
Our then current miserable lot
They crowded into the small bar
And the room was suddenly full
As they gave a standing ovation
To a performance poet from Hull
Then he called on my wife
Who easily passed his test
Performing her eponymous poem
Before a poster of Georgie Best
The Folk Train Hull to Hathersage
A memorable and amazing day
When we filled trains with music
Every single inch or the way
R.I.P. Mick Mc Garry, Folk Train Leader and amazing singer.
If I were to take a sledgehammer
Grip it tender but tight
So its iron skull may send
A scathing speech to your sternum
Would bricks take flight,
Or are you truly that dense?
Is a man free or numb
Oblivious or ignorant or dumb
When unmoved by events surrounding
As conspicuous, persistent and resounding
As the crumbling becomes
That he still sings psalms
Is a man’s aim to mock
Is his peace demeaning or a shock
To those who see him as out of touch
Not feeling at all if not as much
The scathing scalding shared plight
That has put down the mightiest’s might
Is a man so hollow
That he shares not the world’s sorrow
Does he offend by his peace and happiness
Is he teasing at the world’s emptiness
Is he unwilling to help feel
And will he will as much will as others will to will
Is a man absolutely one with the many
Without the exception of any
That he must surrender his judgment
And strive to endure the torment
Of a burning calling brazing his bones
And his praise to almost be shouted by stones
Isn’t a man God’s own creation
For His purpose, will and timely intention
One to plant and another to reap
One to send and another to keep
All different members but of one body
Duty bound and call ready
K. Muitherero
The clear blue sky above me
Needs a shadow on the run
To hide a weary fugitive
Before the setting sun
The desert plain is endless
And my boots are running dry
A fugitive is friendless
To the stranger passing by
A rattlesnake is rotting
By a rocky mountain cat
A desert rat is scatting
From a nesting acrobat
The craggy peak above me
Is a hide and seeker's base
The little birds are bingeing
On a rabbit's running face
Tarantula's are twisting
In the scathing summer heat
The wasp is worth resisting
But the eggs are hard to beat
I gather what is left of me
When I was still a man
The rocks and caves are not so free
To hold me if they can
I wish I had a pillow
Or a sleeping bag at best
To hide the pain of loneliness
By weeping on my chest
The setting sun is sitting fast
The dune is growing cold
I hope somebody catches me
Before the moon is old.
•THE QUINTESSENTIAL BIRTHDAY•
Rather than count candles,
Contemplate your blessings,
And stop tallying the years,
Your birthday bliss brings joyful tears.
The world was blessed with you.
Your life has been enriched all through
Reminisce those who love you & care,
In diverse ways, they're always there.
Ruminate on the memories
And the scathing victories,
May your experiences make you a star.
Believe that is who you are.
Another year is a happy gift,
Enjoy your added year like a lift.
Exude in the euphoria and slay,
Cut your cake, and say:
"I won't just count birthdays,
I will count blessings all my days!"
•VICK MANUEL POETRY{VMP}•
Form: Rhymes/Heroic Sonnet
Copyright ©9th July 2023.
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