Official DUP NAPOWRIMO (National Poetry Writing Month) 2017

April 7, 2017

CYCLE I: EARTH

Plains

From highest lands to Mother’s lap, the Way
Is found, Her flats in wheat straw tendrils spread,
Which slightest breath in subtle wave-forms play,
From muddied banks to canyon towers’ edge.
And with Her Springs and storms Her floods may come,
Still time’s progress brings verdant life arise.
In pounding of their weight, the stampede's drum,
They split the rows like Nature's force realized.
In air here scented sweet, filled hot they run,
It’s in this lush, where mighty tracks are found,
And here where mighty hunts in battles won,
When cunning hunters bend to holy ground.  
With harvest passed when all their hungers sate,
Recline with Winter’s night for hard Spring’s wait.

April 7-- Raging Head Cold

Little bastards wreak
their havoc
in the night, burrowing,
infecting,
sinus tissue and
pharynx.

Which virus
or bacterium, are
you?

I awaken
with a cement ball, atop
my shoulders, eyelids
refusing to stay open.

Sleep---so much more
inviting than work, yet
I must comprehend
a way to look alive.

Meals of tea
and Motrin
await my ravenous
mind, spinning,
in its own juices.

I contemplate
meanings of weird,
feverish, dreams
while I still lay, like
a thrown ragdoll,
sprawled on the bed of
my fate.

Dark Days Ahead


darkness descends
dense and predatory in nature
innocence is lost

we as a Country
have watched as children
play in the ashes of rubble
of their war torn cities

stood helplessly by
as child after child
was dug out of a bombed
civilian home

now these little ones
are being burned
by chemical warfare

I shout Crimes Against Humanity
with all my soul

I didn't vote Trump
however I believe he did the right thing
fifty Tomahawk missiles launched
my heart rejoiced

I'm not able to sit comfortably in my home
as other's suffer such outrageous tragedies
we may very well be on the verge of war
It's something we need to be aware of
prepare in our minds for

I'm ready to go down in flames
if need be
better than bathed in the blood of the innocent
for looking the other way





Copyright © 2017 Crimsin. All Rights Reserved

For The Love Of Art

It's not something a guy can really control

Especially when he disrobes
baring it all for the woman
he just met in art class
not too long
ago

Mouth salivating
she takes it all in;
between her lips

a pencil, clenched
ready to be put to work
upon the next blank page
her sketchbook is turned to

but eyebrows furrow  
further as she fixates on the other
member of our modeling duo
shying away from her gaze

Less than a few ruler lengths
stand between desire to please
a friendly request and her
intent to master rendering
my anatomy in graphite

Black rimmed glasses slip  
down the bridge of her nose
in an expression of longing;
a provocative pose of her own
beckoning my eagerness to
acquiesce  

eraser of the drawing tool
becoming wet against
the tip of her tongue

Uninhibited,
it begins to rise
stiffen
harden
standing at attention

My audience
now captivated
begins to catalog
the solid mass of muscle
tightly cloaked in skin  
with delicate lines  

in no hurry
saying,

Good boy!
Whatever you are thinking about,
keep it up!

And I did keep it
up
without having to think of
anything in particular
now that I had permission
to relax rather than imagine  
everything I could to keep it
down

That Being Said

You often pout about the life you could have led

but for all the waterworks we've watched you shed
over the years, not a single crimson drop
was ever bled to mix in with those tears

That being said

See you in a couple of years
Have yourself a life that's nice

Don't let the door
hit you in the ass
on your way out

That being said

Come back when you've stopped
capitalizing on everyone's fears
and learned the meaning of the word
"sacrifice"



 

Private Eyes And Femme Fatales

Love is a  
one-hundred fifty watt bulb
shot directly into your mug  

Where were you on the night of the Twenty-Fourth?

It's in your face
swabbing the inner lining of your cheeks  
for a DNA trace

investigating the hard
to reach crawl space(s)
between your thighs

lifting fingerprints
on your behind

Love isn't the least bit blind

It is a crime scene of the passionate kind

And I know a Private Dick
perfect for the job

Monkey Bars

Cyber bullies love Freedom of Speech
believing it endows them with an
inalienable right to harass
others with abusive comments
be an asshat without consequence  

There is little difference between
being shoved off the monkey bars and
someone lacking in decorum
viciously spreading rumors
or lying outright in an
internet forum

Either way
you are meant to end up
on a pair of skinned knees
if you don't drop in worship
hand over your lunch monies

Nothing much has changed since
childhoods we supposedly grew out of

Look around
See for yourself

We're still on a playground  

Though, you can take
comfort in knowing that  
one can't get a blackened eye
from a Wi-Fi signal

and that the
He Said She Said
SeeSaw Scales of Justice
always tip in favor of the
Truth

ALL The President's Men

Trumpdy Drumpfy
living large and comfy
tripped over lie after lie  
tipped on his tongue
for the umpteenth time

Most of the President's men
couldn't put back together
his promises broken
for there was not enough
duct tape available in the world

And while he gets the U.S.
further involved in Syria
for the most admirable of reasons
the outcome is all too predictable

The real Art of this Deal?
To be Concealed and Carried out  
in the guise of a Great Negotiation
with a silent partner in Crime(a)

NaPoWriMo 7/30 for April 7th, 2017
Villanelle No: 7


DRONING ON

The missile flies towards the ground
the cameras waiting for the scene
the drone relieved then turns around

and with a shriek of hunting sounds
a programmed mission yet unseen
the missile flies towards the ground

and like a clock that has been wound
to claim no laws were contravened
the drone relieved then turns around

and like a thought that brings us down
which carries feelings blue and mean
the missile flies towards the ground

discharging stuff before we drown
our guts are pleased to be so clean
the drone relieved then turns around

the mission, lost, was nowhere found
the cameras shoot the latest meme
the missile flies towards the ground
the drone relieved then turns around.

unsent letters to Ggod {x}
07.04.17     poem 7 of 30

{iii}
i gutted myself
to gently stitch your lips
with my viscera
[macabre kintsugi]
& tied the unraveling threads
around my own throat
to smother the origami birds
beneath my ribs

{ii}
there were love letters
burned into
their paper thin wings
& i kept them tethered,
selfishly caged them from
the warmth of my breath

{i}
the words remain pyrographed
to my spinelessness.
i should have told you
the whispers mean more
than the screams

Vexation


Irritation abounds at every input and sounds,
a prickly porcupine cushion
that shoots out rage and anger
at even the lightest touch
violence and harm implied in every twitch,
zounds and bloody hell;
all restraint and no catharsis,
as each moment builds up
like water drops wearing down a mountain
before it explodes with volcanic fury
the impassive expression belying the wrath beneath,
the little moments of sweet victory
have now turned bitter
and the still waters
churn and boil
thrashing, lashing out at anything and everything
but the foul source of displeasure slips past the grasp
the tyrant train of thought focussed onwards
but to no definite destination
other than a meltdown or derailment of this enraged action,
anger abounds, lightning strikes and thunder sounds
but this storm will pass in time.

(Day and entry 7, 21:30 GMT)

VII. Consciousness: Sound

............................lub....dub....Lub...

We unfurl from Life's Spiral Nautilus
our sonar depth of amniotic resonance
turbulent with reverberations, pulmonary
repetition, valves rubber-snapping shut.

dub...Lub-dub...Lub-dub...Lub-dub...

Heart strings, their papillary muscles
contracting, parachut leaflets ballooning slightly into the atria to abscond a back-
drafted current of misdirected blood.

Lub-dub.Lub-dub.Lub-dub.Lub-dub.Lub-

The song of Source low-pitched, dull
before the levee cracks, depositing
bulked flood waters into a shallow
reservoir of mass-manufactured latex.

-dub....................................................

...

more lullabies for Maddi

Grandma told Mama I'd be born
under the light of a full moon
That I'd make swirls in a Milky Way
with just a swish of my spoon

Now I pluck stars from above to make my black hair glow
I blow kisses to the rain because they make the flowers grow
Then I go rescue the lost little worms who move to slow

I tickle the sun for making my skin chocolate brown
Then I rearrange the stars in my hair to form a crown

Papi says I'll go to Australia so Uncle D will
teach me to surf
He says I was a natural born swimmer
right from birth

Whether I'm swimming
Or flying
Or gliding on chutes
Papi says I should always remember
My African roots

Mami says I've never been
Little
And don't walk the path called
Girl
Just keep my eyes and heart open
While I dance around the world

......

What Ever Happened To Good Old Fashioned Evil


He stood tearful in the dock
Not because he felt sorrow
He had told of how his parents
Had systematically abused him
Not because that was the truth
Truth be known, they hadn’t
He had a really good lawyer
Who’d schooled him what to say
Taught him, how to look forlorn
How to look like the victim
His Lawyer had bought opinions
A Psychiatrist to explain to
The judge that he wasn’t bad
A psychologist to titillate the jury
With sexually explicit story telling
A social worker to make his plea
And offer their future full support
The victims of his crimes given
Little or scant regard by those
Now defending and supporting
This monster

He fainted in the dock
Was helped to his feet
He didn’t really faint
His lawyer had told him to fake
At some point in the proceedings
Giving the impression of weakness
He told the judge and jury:
How guilty he felt every day
How much remorse he carried
What the voices had told him
None of this was true
He was told to say this
A lawyer who cared more
About winning than the truth
The acting was legendary
An Oscar winning performance
Not a dry eye in the house
Sadly not for his victims
Sadly all for him
This monster

Despite the charges
Two charges of child rape
Four sexual assault of a minor
There was to be no jail time
Other soft options being considered
Care in the community
180 hours of voluntary work
A new bought and paid for
Identity and comfortable life
He didn’t break a smile
He had been told not to
Not a time for air punching
He shook his lawyer’s hand
His head bowed low
Leaving this hallowed chamber
This monster

I followed him to Jack’s Bar
He was obviously celebrating
We exchanged stories of ego
Stories of criminal escape
Lots of shots, lots more laughter
He fainted in the backseat of my car
He hadn’t really fainted
I had deliberately drugged him
He awoke strapped to hospital bed
In my cellar and workshop
He would tell the truth
Well before I was finished
He would cry like a six year old
Well before I was finished
My voices loudly told me
Slowly torture him to death
This monster

I had to comply
I had no real choice
Don’t get me wrong
I enjoyed every second
I was exposing real evil
Good old fashioned evil
This I saw as my duty
Albeit just as a hobby
But truth be told
I had some responsibility
After all I was his lawyer
This monster

“The only cycle of abuse I am aware of is a BMX with no saddle.”

David Macleod 2017