Tag: betrayal

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Pavlovian Lapdogs

petulant plebians pandering prose
spawned out of spite from depictions composed
of pithless and petty ploys poised to appease
a princess of poisonous pedantry peeved
with patrons plucked patiently tempered by pique
their person purloined spurred by spurious speech
supinely complying peremptorily
pliable pupils impaired by erred pleas
obsequious as pavlovian lapdogs
a precedent of appalling demagogue
imparting dispatch surreptitiously reaped
to pose such a perfect impression oblique
to passively present through public dispose
promotion of disreputable depose
to please their despot’s pathetic importunes
perilous plots born of perceived impugn
sparing none, for all are prone as her pawns
through solipsist eyes of contempt and despond

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Such Dreams Expire

pray this memory
tell no lies

in light
of truth
since shone

to strip me
of my last reprieve

pray not
these newly fallen whispers

speak ill
of our erstwhile tales

should they unravel
all my world

would vanish
into despair

for every sinuous
sorrow felled

arose
a sanctuary

that once
we shared

to dare
such dreams expire

but time
forever
radiates
in solemnity

and thus i am fraught
with this aching moor

of that which
i can never
come to mourn

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Listen, For I Have Kept A Fanatic Heart -by Ray Smith (Poetry Magazine Feb 1944)

Some poems seem to reflect the very essence of our being on an intimate level.  This is the poem that I most relate to.  The poet, Ray Smith, also happens to be the grandfather of my primary source of inspiration in my personal life.  My wife, Mira Meunier.  Ray was a poet who enlisted in WWII to serve as a combat medic.  He fought in several of the most noted battles, one of which was the battle of the bulge.  It’s interesting to see the marked change that took place in his poetry from the period before his deployment to the period after which he had experienced the horrors of warfare.  This transformation can be observed in the poems published by Poetry Magazine during those years found here https://www.poetryfoundation.org/search?q=ray+smith&refinement=poetry_magazine&page=2 for anyone who might be interested in reading them.  He would become a decorated soldier, having risked his life on numerous occasions to save his comrades. Speaking of comrades, in a vulgar display of cruel irony, he was blacklisted for being a communist after having served his country.  He spent the remainder of his years serving as the library director at several universities and served twice as poet laureate for the state of Minnesota.

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woeful rant of december ninth

it’s daunting how certain calendar dates will always haunt us as though to jauntily flaunt their wont to taunt us by sauntering in monty python-esque vaunting leaving us wanting to romp their gaunt face of nuanced incontinence that ought to get knocked off for airing intolerable for having brought up the thought that caused us to pontificate the fate wrought upon our existential provenance perpetrated by their aberrant lack of forethought and penchant toward dalliance from whence commenced the relentless onslaught of events that rendered my once surrendered and tenderest heart unmendable when it was dealt the torment of indelible dolor that then was denied us our requisite need pending urgently for venting with hell-bent intentions to transmute their countenance into convenient compartments to fit in a seedcoat indeed to be planted so that everyday we could then inundate its existence with chants of the pestilent waste of our years worth of tears having instilled new fears which had never before been our burden to bear because they did not care to veer far from the path e’er imparting the wrath of their crass importunes swiftly sealing our doom having nary just married and barely a groom with the newfound misfortune of wary intrude looming ominously in omnipresent brood deconstructing the flustered states of our distress questioning every instance of intimate caress with the last lover she should have ever undressed but our world has collapsed from the lack of regard held by rogue gigolos traipsing through my backyard but alas i digress lest my chest wrest this heart now bereft of the love that fluoresced like the stars no sooner to return to the ruinous remnants that went up in flames when you burned down the bridge that should e’er led us back home where our love had lived but we’re yet still alive writhing spiteful remains from the love once effusive imbrued by disdain from the rains of tumult in tempestuous skies e’er enduring to obscure the fate long denied but i’ve tried and i’m tired so again i must hide from the prideful contempt of the ire in your eyes though i rant and i rave we had both been to blame just two bedraggled husks near combusting with pain still i would never change even one single day in spite of my passe seditious display i would still grant the last word as yours now to say…

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Dark Volition

shelter from this life of consequence surrendered
bedlam breathing dusk into the repetitious eye
poisoned by apologists remiss in their submission
willful condemnation bleeding patience running dry

solitude now falls on beds of untread indignation
settled into sediment beset by endless ire
spent in exile inauspicious, brazenly appointed
by ears abating airs embellished in untended fire

hellish masochism pulling anchor free from mooring
ochre skies of rancor shedding fools who never tire
hailing from the advent of the spreading plague of ingress
hell-bent on a hegemony held on headless spire

a voice proclaiming every thought’s unspoken circumspection
evasively as broken vigilantes yet conspire
to vindicate cold execution through lucid delusion
the boldest death behest of sordid souls long since bemired

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