Bop Poem: Our Voices Echo (GloPoWriMo, Day 11)

A tenebrous chorus of hushed voices in a

disquieted, uneasy murmur and cry

in outrage over the dystopian reality

not oxymoronic but harshly surreal, tangible.

Tides of tears flood out the cruel sneers

And crude jibes of political injustice and unrest.

 

A revolution is needed before all is lost to the damning of humanity.

 

Hear you not the dulling whimpers of the

helplessly lost whose sighs turn to the demons

that haunt their ghastly nights under chilled stars,

igniting a fire to roar, hoping this one will work

to reunite a dying species struggling against

evolutionary mishaps and derailings weakening, then

befouling a once-sacred land to the selection

of rabid mongrels growling for hell at limbo’s doors.

 

A revolution is needed before all is lost to the damning of humanity.

 

Invisible poverty camouflaged in the urban jungles

Once a warrior, now knocked down and it endures

a harsh climate against the disease that rides

its way to the summit, economizing our lifelines

like common resources, disarming our worth.

And we yell so the wind will carry our echoing voices.

 

A revolution is needed before all is lost to the damning of humanity.

The Ragged-Edged Beautiful Blink

You, darling, were on the brink of falling

You didn’t cry but sang out to the moon

Something in you was tragically calling

Like a wolf howling or a hound

Eyes peered through the ebony dark, darling

They weren’t yours nor mine

But a deity’s foul cackling and cheering

To drown you in the turquoise lagoon

So green, ethereal and enticing…

 

 

(A/N: Today’s featured poet is Thomas Lux who sadly passed earlier this year and the title is the closing line of his poem: Cucumber Fields Crossed by High Tension Wires.

The prompt was to write a nine-lined poem, Spenserian form (because who doesn’t appreciate the lasting influence of The Faerie Queene). I chose the Magic 9 form: a. b. a. c. a. d. a. b. a. with a personalised syllable count per rhyming line.

I’d also like to mention that this 9th day is Charles Baudelaire’s birthday so this piece is a tribute in memory of one of the greatest French poets, perhaps the most macabre of them too.)

After-Image On Silent TV Screens (Day 4 #GloPoWriMo)

loathed

never again can it see

what horrors taint the inner eyes

of those children’s foul minds

is it an addiction or a phase?

displeasure and distaste

how juvenile adults can be

despicable

unwilling to hear home truths

in your psychedelic acid rock 60’s

bananas were cigars

and glue was perfume coke

get over it

maybe you only like selfies when

they’re your own

annoying timelines of embarrassed teens

third wave hasn’t got sh*t on us

inbred swine mocking my blackness

the world belongs to your uneducated ass

splodges and greasy flatness

what is worse?

your fragility and insecurity

or your sense of entitlement?

why moan about the 60’s?

racism is still kicking fit

protests are very common

but rarely heard

and your glaringly unrealistic

expectations

should be under lock and key

until you finish your sugared

delights and end it

for the time

it takes to switch off

your humanity

with your precious gun collection

and proudly masculine sons

and effeminate daughters

destined to wed and be

cheerful liars ever after

in their rightful places

god forbid they think twice

or rebel

because glocks are freedom

for the free

and certain loss for the unworthy

and again you convert

to the blindness of comfort-

ridden, optional ignorance

while the world presumably self-

implodes taking souls

and leaving ghosts of debris

in the back of your conscious

to be swept away by the snazzy

white-washed excuse of

entertainment.

 

(Note: So the featured poet was Lawrence Ferlinghetti. The title was taken from his poem The Canticle of Jack Kerouac. As ever, I was attracted to the mere mention of Beat so I was hoping to transfer some of the Beat Gen energy to this piece. I didn’t.

The prompt was one of my favourite composer’s work, Enigma Variations by Edward Elgar. The prompt was to suggest something in the poem without referring to it directly, keeping it a silent question.

I hate this one because I promised I’d avoid politics or socialism but yeah…

Also, a challenge making ‘an accessible poem’ like that which Ferlinghetti describes and writes while also making it an enigma to riddle… Strange balance.)

Between Shipwreck And Burial /NaPoWriMo/ Day-2

There’s a wavering ocean inside of me

Longing to escape its carnage confines

Crashing against the bony cage dunes

Capsizing the ship in a graceless gale

I am drowned from within, flooded

Gallons of seasalt whipping my wounds

A life of metaphor lost to the tsunami

I gasp for air, unable to scream or escape

How can I tear away from my own flesh?

These waves ebb and dash me asunder

The gulls squawk a concert of mockery

Nipping down to peck at my bloody eyes

I’m plunged under the expanse of water

Engulfed with a paramount phobia

Of drowning and fading in a greying

Self-absorbed, ego-soaked hurricane.

Oh the seabed will rise to embrace me

Against her longing, shell-indented bosom

Where I might finally rest in peace

Or perhaps tie me to a scalloped raft

Leaving me to pick the scales from

My permeated crow-black hair

And the crab-meat from between

My crooked, plaque-ridden teeth

The sea does little to offer answers

Instead coughing up useless pearls

And cold, dead scale-painted flesh

The boundless sea prunes my toes

Burns my blue lips and clogs my limbs

It does little to hide my own rotting

Body and suffocating putrescence

The decay of my mind resists charity

Threatening the few flames left

In a soul that was never mine

All that remains of me is the memory

Of the ceaseless tide that was only

Disrupted by the moon-lass’ love

A dozen times a year like the rose bouquet

Which you placed by my eternal bed.

Some Only Open At Moonlight [NaPoWriMo]

Our love is

tortured on

the nightly hour,

unheard and

unseen.

Barely open

for confrontation

or change

we rise with the

sun and

part separate

ways with the day-

break and avoid

peeking curious

eyes.

Our love is

like the Cas’blanca

Lily: dazzling,

pure and shy,

fragrant and sacred,

sea-bound and drenched

like the Mediterranean,

dizzying Jasmines.

Our love is as

tender as Moon

Flowers and

as courageous as

the moon’s purloined

silver glow,

sole witness

to our paganistic

nights.

Our love is

like midnight

blooms

only opening

in the dead

of whispers

and hushed sighs,

thighs spread

like petals

of the Lily,

lips scarcely

touching

for fear

of the ghasts

that haunt

the wretchedly

intoxicating

twilight.

Your gentle touch

heals like a Brahma

Kamal, purple and

God-like in

the enchanting

mists of night,

blooming in the chill

and cold, fighting

for survival

without a care

but I’m helpless-

ly self-centred

and protective

and vilely sheltered

like a Pipe Cactus

lashing out

sharp needles

at the prying

eyes, trying

to expose our

suffocating secret

to the damning

of daylight.

 

 

[Also posted at: https://www.wattpad.com/story/104560434 ]

Seabound

The purple dawn was metamorphosing into an amber shade before easing into the cornflower blue of a spring day. The heavenly breeze blew wisps of salty water through the sails of the Stellar Pearl making young Sara breathe in the fishy scent with a smile.

“It is quite rejuvenating is it not?” Captain Alice grinned lopsidedly, standing lazily at the ship’s wheel.

“It’s quite fishy too,” Sara giggled. She felt better now after her two days of sea-sickness.

“Gotten your sea-legs, ‘ave ya?” Lacy approached them in her usual loose Victorian gown, “Oh, and mother, we’re twelve degrees off course North-West. Timothy says we can make it there by sunrise tomorrow if we go at 40 knots and take advantage of the clear seas.”

Captain Alice nodded and went about making the modifications, shouting at her crew various orders. Everything seemed to be running smoothly aboard the steampunk pirate ship. What Sara really wanted to do was be in the air but they had taken precautions, and the lack of enchanted Pixie Sand had made it too risky to attempt to conceal the airborne ship in the cloudless sky.

A shout of panic resounded from above, cutting Sara’s stream of thoughts short.

“Kraken! Kraken ahead! Kraken!” the young green-haired lad bellowed from the crow’s nest, waving his arms animatedly.

Sara gasped and was thrown back when the Captain attempted to change course, causing the ship to lurch to the left. The young girl jumped to her feet and ran towards the bow to get a closer look.

“Stay back!” Antoine yelled as he fiddled with a tangled sail. It was at that moment that Sara saw three large red tentacles reach up to grab the boat.

Suddenly, the green-haired lad shouted something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Circe’.

Circe?” Sara muttered wide-eyed. What kind of entanglement had she gotten herself into this time? This was nothing like joking around with a pixie and saving puppies.

Lacy cursed as she dragged Sara away from the edge, and just in the nick of time too for if Sara had still been standing in that spot she’d have fallen victim to the first tentacle that reached out at lightning speed from the whirlpool of water.

The wind was raging and the sky suddenly turned dark and thick with unfriendly clouds that looked to Sara like bad omens with their smoky teeth and malevolent wispy eyes. Sara shuddered from cold and fear as she tried to avoid bumping into any of the frantic pirates who were desperately battling huge red tentacles with spears and crossbows. The Necromancer was bellowing some strange words in Latin that seemed lost to the world until he threw something at a tentacle a few feet away from him and it evaporated in a poof of purple mist.

Suddenly, Sara heard a voice screaming mad words in the distance, it was so eerily animalistic that it made goose bumps rise all down her spine. Surely that’s a banshee! Sara pondered momentarily before noticing the three islands surrounding them behind all the tentacles and water.

On one of the islands, there was a tall thin woman in a black ragged dress and limp black hair that was blowing wildly in the wind, concealing her face but Sara was certain she had been the one screaming inhumanly.

“Help!” Lacy cried from ten feet in the air. A thick tentacle was threatening to squeeze her in two. None of the other sailors noticed, they were too busy with their own battles.

Sara rushed about frantically looking for something she could do. She understood now that this sudden storm wasn’t natural and the Kraken was possibly Circe’s familiar. The mere idea was terrifying. She had to help Lacy. In her frenzy, she tripped over a harpoon. This should do! Sara fumbled wildly, lifting it and aiming at the tentacle with shaky hands.

The arrow flew through the air swiftly before embedding itself in the soft, fishy flesh, a little below Lacy’s flailing legs. Sara waited for the squid to release her friend in pain but instead the arrow very suddenly disintegrated, blowing the top half of the limb and Lacy into the air.

Sara gasped in horror, her wide eyes followed the screaming girl as she landed on Circe’s island. Sara lost sight of her when she landed.

In utter panic, Sara turned to tell the crew that Lacy was now a prisoner on the island, only to find that the ship was deserted except for the Necromancer who was passed out.

Shaking, Sara helped the Necromancer up.

“Fiddlesticks! What happened?” he asked, rubbing his bird’s nest hair out of his eyes, taking in the sight of the wet and messy deck.

“I’m not sure but it has something to do with the mad woman on the first island to the left,” Sara replied, looking around at the suddenly quiet surroundings.

“Is that the Captain’s hat?” the Necromancer asked wide-eyed, staring at the black object sitting in a pool of water near the wheel.

“Yes… They’re all gone. One moment they were fighting the giant squid and suddenly it’s quiet and they’re all gone…”

“Take a deep breath,” the Necromancer suggested to the young girl.

Sara tried to do as he asked without hyperventilating. She managed at long last to take in a few fire-yoga breaths. Feeling slightly more level-headed, she said, “We have to find them, I bet that Circe has taken them to her island”.

“Oh no! Not me. I will not face that witch again!” the man looked like he’d rather eat rotten fish.

“Again?” Sara was feeling optimistic all of sudden.

“Yes, but don’t ask for the story. Witches are crazy in reality; don’t think they’re as lovely as in some tales you humans tell. She’d sooner eat me or kill me than let me live happy and sane. She tried to steal my free-will and make me her familiar and her l…” the Necromancer shuddered, unable to finish his words in disgust.

Now Sara was curious, it seemed they had a history. She grinned despite the problem at hand and decided to probe deeper.

“Her what? What did she want of you?”

“Don’t make me say it! Her island’s a loony bin, a maze of absurd surrealism. Don’t make me go back. The pirates don’t stand a chance of escape,” he barked back rather sharply.

“But you escaped didn’t you? A smart man like you, one with such unimaginable powers could surely take on anything. You’re all but invincible!” Sara put on a sweet tone and innocent look of adoration she’d usually use on adults she wanted to please.

The Necromancer wasn’t fooled however. He may have been a bit of a scatter-brain but he could see right through her. “Your sweet talk won’t help you with Circe, I’ll have you know. Well, maybe a bit…” That’s when he blushed crimson.

Sara burst out laughing. “I knew it! She’s smitten by you and you just played to her weaknesses. Come on! You’re perfect for the job! Please, think how Captain Alice will reward you and how you’ll be the hero for a change.”

The Necromancer’s shoulders dropped as he sighed in defeat. “I want no less than a tenth of the Sky king’s royal treasure after this,” he looked Sara square in the eyes. Sara nodded, hoping Alice would agree to that.

The Necromancer muttered a few words and the entire ship rose in the air and turned towards the island.

“Woah, isn’t this too direct an entrance? Isn’t there a secret route or something? Like can’t you make us invisible? We’ll be captured and spotted in seconds!” Sara yelped in surprise as she tripped backwards from the sudden turn.

“Trust me; there is no way of going onto her territory without her knowing. The direct route is the best. Besides we’ll escape invisible if all goes as it should.”

Sara shrugged, hoping she had placed her trust in the right person. Maybe he did know better. The ship fell on the shore with a slight crash that rattled it. Sara fell for what seemed like the tenth time that day. She frowned rubbing her possibly bruised bottom.

“Oh if Alice saw that landing…” she muttered, glaring at the still upright Necromancer.

“Did you say something?” he asked, turning to face her with a slight smirk.

“Nope,” she said with a false smile, following him off the ship.

“Smug pug,” she mumbled, making a face at his turned back as he stepped onto the sand with an expression of curious discomfort.

Sara made it to the ground without the help the Necromancer offered her. Her breeches caught on a bit of wood splinter and nail and tore slightly, scratching her skin. She scowled angrily.

“You’re only harming yourself, love,” he said bemusedly, watching her struggle in a temper.

She was just about to retort with her sharp wit when they both stopped in their tracks.

A large pack of wolves was standing before them, each one looking more menacing and larger than any normal wolf. It seemed the real adventure hadn’t even started.

Episode 13 of The Portal of Deceit (Flash Fiction)

“Dr. Adler? Dr. Adler, the police are here!” Della’s voice rang from the reception.

Lars frowned. Hadn’t the mobsters said they’d told the police it was fine?

Confused, he rushed out having just thrown the bodies through the wormhole as a quick and temporary disposal. He’d feed them to his favourite flesh-eating purple trees later.

“Hello officers. I’m sorry you had to come out here. Everything seems perfectly fine,” Lars smiled his brilliant white smile.

“You’re Dr. Adler, forty-eight year old physicist?” the first police officer questioned.

“Yes, last I checked,” Lars didn’t know what was coming up but he hoped this wasn’t the ‘string’ Daniel (Lars had checked his wallet), the dead hitman, had pulled.

“I’m sorry, you just don’t look even half that age! What’s your secret?”

The two officers looked astounded.

Lars chuckled, “Good air, exercise, good food and I suppose some medicine that I’m developing. Look out for it.”

They don’t know it was extraterrestrial air, food, and as for exercise… I’m sure running away from killer dog-sized bees counts…

Lars winked.

After taking a statement and checking the premises (Lars managed to convince them that the wormhole room was a high contamination zone), the officers left looking baffled.

The doctor let out the breath he had been holding.

“Strange that someone would break into such a high security building for no apparent reason,” Della said from behind him.

Lars frowned.

“Of course it’s strange. They probably just wanted to show that they could break in to scare me. After all, with every passing day I’m making millions. Who wouldn’t want to make a front page story? One of the officers actually said The New York Times wants a full interview about this. Five minutes fame for the criminals and all that,” Lars kept checking her eyes for any hint of a lie as he spoke, “Don’t worry about it, I’m upping security even more now.”

Della smiled, “You’re probably right. After all, you’d have to be a mad genius to break through state-of-the-art security and leave undetected. They managed to disable the cameras probably from wherever they came from. That’s some impressive hacking skills.”

Lars froze. Hacking skills… He knew exactly who was behind this.