Blog Archives
Man’yoshu Style Poetry
King Kull Meets Charon at River Styx
Alone, we are statues
who sneer at souls flowing
down a river to hell.
Together, we generate the power
to light a living continent.
*****************
This was written and posted for:
dversepoets Form For All – Manyoshu Poetry hosted by Jane Kohut Bartels/Lady Nyo
Photo credit: Black Gate Adventures in Fantasy Literature
Not all Heroes Cried
Rescue team hunts through the steel wreckage for survivors.
Not all Heroes Cried
Flying across fields of rebar
as if they were fields of grass,
no concern for the deep black holes
of torn metal, wood and glass.
Where rescuers could not attempt,
our heroes mounted without trouble,
exceeding expectations
in deposits of baking rubble.
When they came upon a scent,
they scurried in significant rush.
Steadfastly they worked for reward ―
toys or water bottles to crush.
Comforting and making people laugh,
they were loving and most giving.
Their biggest reward, was to locate souls:
so they could play with the living.
Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.
They came to find the living,
but living were not there.
Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”
Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”
In their search, each one was grey ―
the Big Mutts and the Small.
Jumping on heaps of melted steel
toward endlessness they did crawl.
Their bloody paws were bandaged up,
eyes and noses filled with grunge,
exposed to toxic materials which
were washed with hose and sponge.
They were there for all the rescuers,
more loving than partners and peers.
Some played fetch to help others relax.
They soothed those with heavy tears.
Thunder, and Storm were just as dry
As Porkchop, Jax and Servus.
The rescuers gave away their drinks,
before quenching their own thirsts.
Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.
They came to find the living,
but living were not there.
Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”
Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”
Tascha ceaselessly gave her all
‘til overcome by heat and smoke.
Bretagne managed to take a snooze
so she wouldn’t have a stroke.
Billy calmed himself right down,
traversing treacherous terrains.
Wolf, Bear, Eagle, and Trackr
lived up to their doggie names.
Dorado, Roselle, Salty, Max, Wuss
all made it out alive.
Kaiser choked on hazardous soot
when, into debris, he took a dive.
Sunny Boy stayed on task
although it was so dreary.
Woody, Jake, and Hoke,
found no one, then got leary.
Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.
They came to find the living,
but living were not there.
Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”
Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”
There are stories about Cowboy and Red,
Or about Thunder, if you prefer.
Dusty arrived there clean in heart,
but left with contaminated fur.
They came in many sizes.
They came from any breed.
Abbey, Thea, Jena, Sue, Ivey, Mika
were all good girls indeed.
Riley, Willow, Cody, Hawk ―
each one was some kind of hero.
Moxie, Tara, Guinness, Merlyn
or Gus, Cowboy, Sirus, or Apollo.
Two sets of list must exist,
a short one for those who came out,
a longer one for those who searched,
although doing it with doubt.
Not all heroes cried,
they just didn’t wag their tails,
their noses and their hearts
soothing the pain of those not lost.
They came to find the living,
but living were not there.
Three dead bodies in half an hour
“Get the body bag.”
Twenty pieces of DNA
“Get the ice cooler.”
************************
The other day @NannersMom asked me to write a 9-11 poem about the dogs who were involved in the the 9-11 tragedy. It took research, and also a lot of tears. It was not easy to get away from the emotions, and get to writing it. But I did it. Yay.
Then @RaneeDillon was kind enough to edit it for me, so I could get it posted. Once she put her hands on it, it just started flowing so nicely. Wow.
Pciture credit: http://www.easyvegan.info/2007/09/11/remembering-the-non-human-heroes-of-9-11/ (it’s a FEMA picture)
Also on:
Challenge by Mark Kerstetter
Restricted Souls
Lonely Desert Tunnel
Restricted Souls
A procession of mules to his eminent domain is
a revolutionary reverie to restrict them all.
His abode always has been the outcast plane;
A hellish domain meaning to restrict souls of all.
‘Tis an archane desolation fogenshrouded by his
medieval alchemy that control’s the souls of all.
Sonic booms, over his orthodox solitude
shake up his sermon as he restricts us all.
Vertical transition. Instantaneous cadence
of a pious man who’s soul must restrict all.
Currency is worthless next to liver or spleen.
Bribes never pass on his plate: he restricts it all.
He sees through diamonds, worn by all.
Hide your gems, lest his soul restrict all.
************************
Written for:
John Alwyine-Mosley challenged the poets to write a Ghazal. Please go to the link to learn more about this form.
People seemed to have stopped giving real critiques and are back to saying how much they liked things. I don’t learn anything from just compliments. Please, people who hate this, tell me why. People who actually do like it, how can it be improved.
Photo credit goes to me. It’s a tunnel just north of Tehachapi, CA.
Posted on The Thursday Think Tank #57 – Loneliness
Verification wastes my time, and often doesn't work. I am going to stop commenting on pages that require verification one of these days.
ZONGRIK 