Image – Page 62 – Image & Verse

It Sucks

It Sucks

Shoo, swat, smack, ouch, damn, scratch… it’s amazing! Seven people sitting here on the deck, talking and enjoying the stars — and I’m the only one doing battle with these invisible blood-sucking bastards. I look like I’ve been stricken with St Vitus’ dance, or in the throes of a damned seizure. I don’t mean to make light of those two unfortunate conditions — they are not laughing matters. But neither are these infuriatingly itchy welts rising on my flesh.

And mosquito repellent, what a joke. About the only thing this crap repels is my little Shih Tzu, Edgrrr, when I come back in the house smelling like a chemical dump. I have tried creams, salves, ointments, oils, sprays, powders, even a special hi-tech invisible electronic barrier. Oh sure, like that really worked!

The only thing I know for certain can offer protection against those micro-monsters is me, for anyone else sitting with me. You are safe from the attack of the Culicidae horde if I am anywhere near. I am the preferred target, and all my friends and family know it. There is one benefit to being “skeeter-magnet” me — I do get invited to a lot of summer picnics and deck parties.

circling overhead
blood-sucking kamikaze
and I’m the target

~ ~ ~

Click below to check out more buggy poetry at dVerse:

Haibun Monday: Insects

Click to check out more ”try everything” poems at Toads

Vanished

c

Vanished

and he saw her leaving
and he opened his mouth
to call her name
but only dust escaped

and broken dreams

for he was a spoiled promise
from long ago
left too long
on silent lips

he tried raising a hand
to gesture a wave
but he was stone
lifeles
rigid
cold
so he could not

and she did not hear him
and she did not see him

for he was a faded memory
already vanished

~ ~ ~

Click below to check out more metaphorical poetry at dVerse:

Meet the bar – Metaphorically speaking

The Curious Elf

“Beyond a certain point there is no return. This point has to be reached.”

The Curious Elf

Dedicated to my 5-year-old grandson Alex.
~

An angel-eyed, velvet-clad, curious elf,
while sitting alone on the very top shelf,
said it’s strange, even if I do say so myself,
to be a curious elf, way up high on a shelf.

But I woke up this morning and thought to myself,
I wonder what is up there so high on that shelf?
Perhaps it’s a treasure I can keep for myself?
Curiosity made me climb from my leaf to this shelf.

I like being part of a family of elves,
6 sisters, 5 brothers, in all I’m the twelfth.
But it certainly isn’t much fun on this shelf.
This is just not a place for an angel-eyed elf!

Sometimes it’s hard being a velvet-clad elf,
I forgot to remember, climbing up on this shelf,
that I’m not big enough to get down by myself.
“Won’t somebody please help this curious elf?”

“Oh why did I ever climb up here on this shelf?
I think I knew it was hopeless to get down by myself,
but I thought, what the heck, it’s such a curious shelf.
It’s sure scary, being stranded all alone by myself!”

~ ~

So if you’re no bigger than this quite tiny elf,
don’t got climbing for things, high on shelves, by yourself.
Find somebody big to get stuff off the high shelf,
or you might get stuck like this curious elf.

~ ~ ~

NOTE: This is a Seuss influenced, existential nursery rhyme, inspired by the quote here at the top, from nihilist philosopher and writer, Franz Kafka. This is about an elf who knowingly pushed himself to the probable point of no return — and regretted it.

Click below to read more existential nursery rhymes at dVerse:

Poetics: Kafka for Kids

Revinylized

“What goes round, comes round.”

Revinylized

long did it serve us
providing unadulterated joy
mindbending excitement
otherworldly escape
fantastical imaginings

firing our passions
igniting our emotions
embracing us in love
soothing us in sadness
consoling us in grief

and when extinction seemed inevitable
like the phoenix, again rose the *LP

~ ~ ~

*Long Playing 33-1/3 rpm vinyl music albums

Click below to read more poems of extinction at dVerse:

Quadrille #88: And the Word Is…

Duplicitous

“We are all duplicitous in one way or another.”

Duplicitous

this path is my shame
and so I stumble on
bent by the weight of guilt
drenched in regret
I stumble anguished
into this toxic nightfall
captive on this road to extinction
of my lethal human arrogance
prisoner of my duplicitous apathy
seeking forgiveness

~ ~ ~

Click below to read more poems of extinction at dVerse:

Quadrille #88: And the Word Is…

Moon Child

“Celebrate the miracle that is a child’s wonder!”

Moon Child

that moon
that child
hold eternity’s promise in share

hold in concert
dreams of the future

colorful pails on the ocean’s beach
festooned in starfish and octopus

jelly and jam
on crustless bread

lipstick smeared
on a giddy grin
two outs two strikes
bottom of the ninth
lost to the world
of pretend

a campfire
shared with friends
‘neath a canopy of forever stars

the strum of imagination
that brings song
to the young heart
that elevates
the courage of youth

the rhythm of spirit
that brings the thrill of dance
to young feet
that drives away
the limp of sadness

the hands of time
that will carry the dreams
into the future
toward the doors
opening on possibility

but now
that moon child
is alight with anticipation

waiting
wondering
wishing

looking to that miracle
that is tomorrow

~ ~ ~

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-NjdfOoPK9c

Click below to check out more poetry waiting at dVerse:

Waiting for a poem…

Our Clearing

“This is 144 words, can be read like fiction, but it is lyrical fact.”

“Redwood Clearing” by: Jeffrey Favero © 2014

Our Clearing

Last time you flew to visit, son, we walked our favorite woods. We both love its magic. That perfect June morning, we journeyed deep into that ancient wood, to our favorite spot — our secreted old-growth clearing.

The morning sun softly filtered through the forest canopy, drifting golden into our sacred space, setting your handsome face aglow. A breeze rustled the treetops, whispering of eternity, casting a spell.

Awed by the splendor, we talked quietly, leaning on the downed Douglas that’s slumbered there, perhaps centuries, peaceful in its earthen repose. You were eighteen, off to college soon, so excited — I was beaming pride.

In that moment, time suspended, life aligned for a perfect memory — my very last of many I treasure of you. Three weeks later you were tragically killed. These memories were left here with the trees, in our clearing, where we talk — still.

~ ~ ~

Click below to check out more poetry among the trees at dVerse:

Prosery: Memories with the Trees

Forbidden Forest

“This is 144 word Flash Fiction, rooted in today’s dark truths.”

Forbidden Forest

The fog rolled ‘cross the lowlands, a smothering damp and languid chill, dense with dread — ominous and threatening. Twilight having receded, moonlight labored hard, shouldering its way through the thickening shroud.

The gnarled shape of leaf-dead trees, with their spindly spiked branches, thrust skyward, knobbed and twisted. Their trunks bending and swaying threateningly.

Muffled deep within the gloom of the grove, a throbbing drone of seeming voices rose in dark entangled chant. A menacing disembodied presence spoke, “this night you will experience memories of glory, memories of wealth and memories of conquests, lustful memories of sensuous willing lovers, and memories of powerful magic, conjured by deft hands.”

“But these memories were left here with the trees, forever concealed by your ancestors. You may desire to possess these seductive memories, but any such wish will drive you mad. Understand, these memories can never be yours!”

~ ~ ~

Click below to check out more poetry among the trees at dVerse:

Prosery: Memories with the Trees

Cra’Cra’Crazy!

“Hot Licks” by: Rob Kistner © 2007

Cra’Cra’Crazy!

we was scorchin’
torchin’
in the zone
burnin’ chops
flamin’ righteous

primo riffin’
shreddin’ sacred
glorified ‘n sanctified

fused
bruised
and overused

our axes jumpin’
power pumpin’
entire joint
was thunder thumpin’

licks was rollin’
fingers swollen
we’s all lubed ‘n locked
‘n strike’n light’nin

we was cookin’
skirts was lookin’
smokin’ hot
‘n on the trot
shakin’ bakin’
out for makin’
scene was flippin’
cra’cra’crazy

off the hinge
to the fringe
hot slammin’
jammin’
vibe was goovy

skins was raucous
reeds was rippin’
playa’s trippin’
sanity slippin’
blood ‘n bone on broken tusk
brass ‘n balls to the bell-tone edge

soul elation
elevation
cruzin’ smooooooth
to devastation

upright
‘n bottom tight
we wrecked the house
this velvet night

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more ”Groovy” poems at Toads

Unfathomable

~ lest we ever forget ~

Unfathomable

images

unreal
unfathomable images

the graceful glide
engulfed by the spire
in a roar of golden orange

horribly beautiful

perversely mesmerizing

obscene
devastating images
of madness

torrents of humanity
raining down
desperation their only escape

masses of humanity
racing
to outrun the unbelievable

praying
to be delivered
from the inconceivable

traumatic images

shrines of free commerce
consumed
by the unbearable weight
of their fragile significance
plummeting to earth
in a cloud of self-destruction

heartbreaking images

screaming
dazed
terrified souls
consumed
by the unbearable weight of the moment

staggering onward
to outdistance the surging roll
of all-engulfing
pulverized aftermath

courageous images

battered
determined
tireless heroes

those who were called
who served unselfishly

some
who gave the ultimate service

haunting images

color
gender
ethnicity
wiped away
from the ashen-grey faces
of the traumatized throngs

now just masks of calamity

all made equal
by horror and grief

one nation
under siege
inconsolable
with tragedy and sorrow
for all

unforgettable images
burned into our hearts

~ ~ ~

Click each to check out more poems at dVerse:

Descriptive Detail

Tuesday Poetics: Making much of Madness

Unmask

“Unmask” by: Maxence

Unmask

outside
the evening breeze freshens
as the copper windchimes
hanging over the slate breezeway
ring from time to time
swinging from the blue shingled eaves

just beyond
the big roan
rustles in his stall
as the faded red slats
of the weathered horse barn
creak in the gentle zephyr

inside
at the green oaken table
we sit with dinner
and complacency

there is little resonance

we care for one another
our love goes without saying

meal finished
we clear the table
to the clinks and clanks
of porcelain dishes
and sterling silverware
being rinsed and placed
in the stainless steel sink

we converse very little

no need
we know each other
we know without saying

task done
we part quietly

me
to my rosewood desk
to my keyboard

you
to your tan leather chair
to your book

outside
sunset softly shades golden
the side deck
as come easy sounds
of settling horses
content from final feeding

tubular bells lilt quietly
in gathering twilight

inside a shadow of indifference
blankets subtle electronic ticks
as I type in silence

I think about the times we’ve hurt each other
caused each other thoughtless pain
but that carelessness has been forgiven

we are bound
one to the other
a bond that goes without saying

outside
a brisking wind greets day’s end
chimes vigorously keep pace

inside
a turbulent uncertainty
begins to stir
as the more I type
I wonder

are we really happy
surely we are happy
that goes without saying
that must go without saying
doesn’t it

but why is it we do not say

we wear these masks of coy silence
to hide the vulnerable face of love

how dangerously foolish we’ve become

it’s then
my heart wants to call out
to reach across the soundlessness
to rouse you from your pulp and plot

talk with me
I lift my mask
see me now
see me new
talk with me
I can still surprise

let us speak
what is not spoken
unmask what lies within our hearts

unmask
and talk
before our love is gone
without ever saying

outside
copper chimes
ring out in the darkness

inside
steel silence
sounds aloud

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more “highly visual” poems at dVerse:

Descriptive Detail

In Darkness

“This is my poetic expression of what the “night terrors”, I have experienced all my life, feel like to me. My “night terrors” are actually traumatic, ‘imageless’ dreams, that fill me with so much deep dread that I often wake up moaning loudly. It is a type of nocturnal madness from which I wake completely disoriented and terrified. Once awake and composed, I am usually unwilling to attempt to quickly return to sleep. It seriously scares my wife when they happen to me.”

“Descent Into Madness” by: Rob Kistner

In Darkness

In darkness I’m down, with drum-thrummed head,
steep-steering the black nocturnal nest,
perversely born fantazury,
fresh hatched night’s mad menagerie.

Scream-bringing hoard of twisted truth,
zoom-zooming in this blue-black world,
called forth to gorge in ghastly feast,
first stir, they roust — then gore the beast.

Dark distressing visions overflow,
madness stabbing with a brain-jolt pierce,
disgusting curiosities,
brute-flung to hideousity.

Jerk and lunge these soul-cleaved demons,
death scratch-scratching through doomsday’s door.
Perverted serendipity,
they swarm in crazed horrorifity.

Flaying bone-toed my synapses,
hell’s fleshless hounds devour my peace.
Mind-ghouls shake and shiver me.
Oh gentle morne, deliver me.

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more “mad” poems at dVerse:

Tuesday Poetics: Making much of Madness

Traveler

“Wisdom is the patina of aging.”

Traveler

from here
the road ahead
is traveled differently
with shorter stride
lessened pace

there is no shame
being a traveler slowed

wisdom grows
to match the nicks
of years and miles

the virtue of sacrifice
begets the courage
to best the journey
that remains

~ ~ ~

Click below to check out more poetry at dVerse:

Quadrille #87: Quick! Nick us a poem!

Click to check out more poems on Toads

3 IGWRT words: shame, virtue, sacrifice

Yes!

Yes!

the transcendency of poetry
the rapture of music
the joy of children’s laughter
the power of kindness
the beauty of nature
the softness of a gentle touch
the magic of a child’s kiss
the tenderness of love
the miracle of tolerance
the wonders of life
to all of this I say – yes!

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more lion-like poems at Sunday Muse

Fluxxling

“Seamstress” by: Cat Schappach

Fluxxling

I’ll not be confined
always in motion
eternal ebb and flow
perpetual like the seas
my spirit is flux
seeking balance that’s mine
to change at will

I’ll not be defined
my nature’s fluid
my essence — turbulent
reach not for me
I will not be held
do not name me
I will not be yours

~ ~ ~

Click to check out more poems inspired by Cat on Toads

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