Daddy Bear

Inscrutable -

a name pronounced in

snowflakes swirling,

then changing into

teardrops twirling

in the tempest's waterspout

we kicked out.

The thing about wielding a sword,

as good as they are for protection,

is

we don't always reckon both sides of the blade.

My Inscrutable -

all my own, or

kind of could be -

I thought I heard her

say she should be

in the tick before she fled

as we bled.

And the thing about saving the world,

as good as it is to have heroes,

is

the world does not always prefer to be saved.

Luke and Mark and Matt and John,

bless the bed she lies upon,

the pillows that she cries upon,

the covers she relies upon

for safety when the night is long.

Saints, preserve this weary one

until she joins the dawn.

I call out to you... even knowing you will not answer.

I beg forgiveness... even knowing you will flatly refuse.

I await tomorrows... even knowing you will not be part of them.

I plan my journey... even knowing you will turn your face from mine.

I honor your name... even knowing you will not be pleased.

I do these things... even knowing you will never again take me in your heart. And I will regret none of it on that last ever morning, because I will have loved you without cease through times when love was not the easier way.

Makes me want to hang myself, but in a good way. I was eating some leftover IHoP pancakes when I read this and my throat closed up so tight with emotion that I had to run to the fridge to wash down the clog with milk. LMAO! That's one powerful piece right there.

once again, Sir, you piss all over my own efforts and leave me simply in awe.

That's a load of monkey trumpets, strudel. I saw your latest posted work and it was damn sure no thang to peeze at.

R U getting it published?

Maybe posthumously. I hear that's where the money's at.

Elegant, eloquent, excellent. I'm heartened by what sounds for all the world like progression in healing.

After reading this once, I find it necessary to avert my eyes. Its quiet horror is reminiscent of the visceral pangs evoked by Live's somber "Lightning Crashes" video, which I've always found very hard to watch.

one eye - the left - and paint is peeling

half a head hits three-foot ceiling

claustrophobic

cedar steamer trunk

magicienne, ventriloquist

pretending lies were on his lips

justified her lopping off a chunk

good plan

good act

good axe

good thunk

she took a bow and now her dummy's junk

Deeply felt here. Give us another?

"This one has The Gift."

eighty-something keys that don't work

on a stolen brass ring

twenty-something blackbirds in a pile

but none of 'em sing

a bad motor scooter that he never gonna ride

somethin' ain't clickin' inside

he misaligned

cookie on the table with a bite taken out

milk all over the floor

a million-power telescooper trained at the moon

he don't wanna see any more

his watch, it half-stopped and his gun, it half-cocked

the boy, he frozen in time

he misaligned

tie on straight but he neck all crooked

once he had a hat but he know she took it

he pushing down donuts with wine

misaligned, misaligned

dozen-dozen-thousand angel choir

it still sound weak

DJ rape Rapunzel in the tower

now she don't speak

Holmes look at Watson and he shake he giant head

and what good a detective when you dead?

malignant signs

the world so fine

just misaligned

And yet...it doesn't seem to be missing, in that you still have so much of it to go around.

Ha, don't believe the hype. I only put up this Gingerbrot-Haus to lure chubby Kinder into mein stewpot.

*sharpens knives together*

Thanks, thanks and thanks.

Just a hind paw note here: I can't rightly hold anyone other than myself responsible for the real-life events that spawned this little doohickey. Bears are feeling critters, though, and I definitely do feel like my heart's been swiped.

My thanks to everyone for the kind comments. I'd also like to mention that the material in post #1 is copyrighted by Syslexic Dongs Inporcorated.

Felony

I never thought

that I would see

that kind of

brazen robbery

You executed

perfectly

A wonderment of crime

Felony

I lie in chains

no more to be

a man whose heart

beats quietly

And ain't that just

the irony

for if you brought it

back to me

it still would not be mine

And what did you get?

What did you get

for your larceny?

A handful of coins

thirty or so

bright and silvery?

Did you exchange

for a handful of change

something more precious, my dear?

For a heart can be gold

but a heart can be sold

and formed into rings for a nose and an ear

Oh, Felony

I can't describe

the misery

My nights alone

agony

I still love you, Felony

So slowly goes

the time.

Did you write that? I think it's great!

Thanks, unabashed! The monkey should get most of the credit but I did do all of the typing myself.

Dude, that has got to be the worst poem I've ever read. You stink with a capital 'S'.

Reported for flaming.

Dude, that has got to be the worst poem I've ever read. You stink with a capital 'S'.

Once upon a monkey,

I had a little time.

We'd speak in strange bananas

as he peeled and ate a rhyme.

"You're what," he late me asked one night,

"a frong man, or a stool -

or are you but the little girl

who follows lambs to school?"

"I'm so anfused," I conswered back.

"My doubt is full of mind.

I want to best the do I can

but hard is hope to find."

The chucky monkled. "It's all right,

keep hollowing your feart;

for though your fruit seems journeyless,

you're almost to the start."

"You mock me now!" I lied out croud.

"A Nero I am hot!"

"Oh, boysense, non," he scolded me.

"That's bunch a just of rot.

You need to just unclench your brain;

your sphincter's in a knot!"

"I stand I underthink!" I gasped.

"I've been up too fartight!

The more intense, the more I tense,

and nothing comes out right!"

"Ah, now you're talking sense, I sense;

goodnight, Good Knight; goodnight."

With that, he curled up in a ball

and I turned out the light.

Glad you liked them, Supa. Thanks for commenting.

Margin note I'd like to make known to all readers that the second piece is strictly comic relief. The story, such as there is to speak of, is fictional; I have no bitter "FU" for anyone and least of all for my ex-kitten. She gave her best, the best I've seen, under the most trying of circumstances and stuck it out for as long as she could stand.

Thank you, friends. I have another one, but I can't post another thread so soon after this one so I'll shoehorn it in here.

Uhh, you kind of have to picture me strumming along on a guitar in order for it to make any sense. Flight of the Half-Conchords, if you will.

F.Y.G.F.L.M.A.K.M.I.T.O.

I met a girl

her name was Girl

she made my mind

into a whirl

...ygig

She had a dog

his name was Cat

that's short for Catherine

not a thing to laugh

...at

And the girl named Girl got under my skin

she overtook my life

'til I wanted her Cat to be my gay dog

and her to be my

...knife

Up, down, all around, scooby dooby doo

this verse is filler but it still sounds cool

in, out, waterspout, give a dog a bone

maybe I shouldn't go there

So anyway

it's a big heartache

because she dumped me

flat as a pan

...pans are pretty flat

And the moral of the story

in this one-minute song

is really not clear

'cause it wasn't very long

So I hope you liked the melody

of the tune my dark side calls

"F___ YOU GIRL FOR LEAVING ME

AND KICKING ME IN THE

...overalls"

Thank you! Goodnight!

I am not writing

these words late at night

'cause I sleep like a baby

and everything's sweetness and light

I'm not hearing

that heartbreaking song

where the guy says, "Oh darling, I'm strong"

and I'll get along

The memory's painless

when I think of your face

which is nothing that special

all that radiant grace... commonplace

Do I fear for your safety?

You know that I don't!

Will loneliness drown me?

I'm sure that it won't

I have seventeen lovers

two more in Japan

so I hardly remember your name -

Charlie Ann?

No checking my email

every hour on the hour

and the lack of your soft words

gives me infinite power

Oh, I'm something not human

my eyes are not blue

they're not misting, they're sweating

and for sure I'm not thinking of you

Nothing was my fault

my conscience is clear

I would not beg forgiveness

if you'd just reappear

I'm better for losing

and I don't need you back

my door isn't open

not the tiniest crack

Such a happy and timely goodbye

I will not, I will not cry

cross my sore heart, hope to die

and yes, I deny, I deny

this poem's a wonderful lie

Better that every fiber crack

and fury make head,

blood drenching vivid

couch, carpet, floor

and the snake-figured almanac

vouching you are

a million green counties from here,

than to sit mute, twitching so

under * * * * * ling stars,

with stare, with curse

blackening the time

goodbyes were said, trains let go,

and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from

my one kingdom.

Mother England, take me back

And cradle me to stay

As I've been gone four hundred years

Four thousand miles away

I cannot claim to know your face

The memory's so dim

But this true heart will leap to feel

The arms that take me in

Mother, Mother, though I'm a wanderer

You wouldn't be left alone

I ne'er forgot the way I was brought

The way that would point back home

I'm known to stand in New England's sand

To reminisce dolefully

And o'er the breeze that travels the sea

To sail a son's kisses to thee

At night the moon comes from the east

Reflecting your sweet eyes

And gentle voice that sings me rhymes

And ancient lullabies

For am I not that little black sheep

Who'd sacrifice his wool

That you could weave a blanket so warm

Around us both to pull

Mother, Mother, though I'm a wanderer

You wouldn't be left alone

I ne'er forgot the way I was brought

The way that would point back home

A few days more I'll linger afar

But solemnly I decree

One evening soon I'll saddle that moon

And ride it on back to thee

Dearest Mother, I will be back

To cradle you and to stay

No hundreds of years, no thousands of miles

Can weather our love away

Baby... fight. Fight for what's rightfully yours.

For the donut cake.

For the satin and lace.

For the platinum.

For sand in your shoes as jellyfish look on powerlessly from the surf.

For colorful arcs accross bathroom walls.

For colorful arcs accross the sky.

For cuddlathons.

For Graduation Day.

For Braces In The Bin Day.

For Weedabix and Ricycles (sp?)

For the Legoton Constabulary construction project.

For the grand opening of Club Angeles.

For Fudgie II.

For your ear pressed against a thumping heart.

For x and nom

For can't-help-but-grin tuckiefests.

To be watched over as you sleep.

To wake to jammy sammies.

For mornies eye wipes on an occupied Bad Religion t-shirt (size XL).

To rub it in their effing cretinous gobs.

To blaze a trail through Hell for Broski and Soapy McShroombulb.

For the Hello Kitty Room (spooning optional).

For a duvet tent.

For a lap as a pillow and "Merry Christmas, Mr. Bean".

For birthday presents under the tree.

For the turkey baster (or equivalent thereof).

For happy tears as she's laid in your tired arms.

For sauteed placenta Alfredo (all yours, btw).

To powder an ickle baby bum.

To smell that silken baby hair.

To smell those poo-laden nappies (size S).

To smell those poo-laden nappies (size XL).

To shop at Rugrat Gap.

For the first day of school.

For crayon art and fridge magnets.

For nursery rhymes.

For songs yet unwritten.

For "Blood & Kisses: The Rock Opera".

For Disneyland.

For Burning Man.

For unexpected floral bouquets.

For a pram to roll through the park.

For a hand to hold through the dark.

For bone-melting backrubs on demand.

For a tray of chicken soup and toast when you're sick in bed.

For piggyback rides and similar undignified fun when you're up and around.

For a pair of eyes that can see no other but you.

For a scrapbook chockablock with sparkling memories.

And for a million things more.

Don't you give up on life now, dammit. Not with all this awaiting. Fight.

I believe in you, Kittenfish. I do, I do, I do.