Iago

I don’t need a friend turned foe
To spoil my peace of mind.
I have my own Iago
Residing inline.

Over analysis
Takes all that is fine,
Turns it to paralysis
Or removes the spine.

A message viewed,
Then changed just one line,
Becomes a mental feud,
Of relationship fey a sign.

“Especially on days like today,”
Gone from the vine,
Iago says, “You overstayed,
You should just resign.

“Ignore the compliment that still is,
Without that last bit, it’s in decline.”
And with these words of his,
I carve apart some writing time.

Put pen to paper,
Fingers on home row align,
Turn to vapor!
This foul cancer turn benign.

What was skimmed
Weakened the line,
‘Tis why she trimmed:
For a better shine.

Parry, thrust, stab, and slash,
Make Iago withdraw into the brine.
Final push, and with a splash!
Iago’s gone—until next time.

© 2021 H.K. Longmore


Author’s note: I wanted to end this on a positive note, but TBH, Iago will be back. I’ll have to do a part 2 sometime; maybe that will have a happier ending?

100 Reasons

Message wishing well
Remained without reply.
There could be a hundred reasons why,

But only time will tell
Which holds and which are pared away:
Sunny day, she went out to play.

Hearing a bell,
Afraid of for whom it tolls,
She hid beneath a stack of bed rolls.

Still unwell,
Too sick to move,
Too far removed from her daily groove.

Flames to quell,
House now ash,
Batteries drained too fast.

Riding atop a tiger through a dell,
Durga at her side,
She went into the fray and died.

Boarding, she fell;
Now wearing a cone,
Paramedics lost her phone.

Sulphur smell,
Evacuated in haste;
Neighborhood in natural gas encased.

Going through hell,
No desire to talk,
At communication balks.

Overdosed on kale,
Her face turned pale then blue,
The Heimlich no one knew.

Heard a cowbell
On a mountain side,
In pursuit still, ’tis why she hadn’t replied.

The story Occam’s razor sells:
Far less glamorous,
Nothing cadaverous;

Internet is unwell,
Or notifications don’t show
Due to settings overflow.

© 2021 H.K. Longmore

Consignment

He takes the skeleton key from his pocket,
Inserts it into the ribcage,
Rotates the door on its hinges;
Pulls out a treasure.

A beautiful flower
Or a diamond,
Sometimes in the rough,
But always his treasure.

At her request,
He hands it to her:
Leaves of carbon-pulp
Stitched together;

Or bits and bytes,
Traveling o’er wire and glass,
Made visible
By electroluminescence.

She turns to examine it,
But not yet;
There’s a journey ahead
Before she can assay.

He can but watch
As she turns to walk away,
Holding in her hands
His softly beating heart.

© 2021 H.K. Longmore

Unnecessary Risk

Musical pharmacopoeia,
Not available this hour.
Not wanting to turn sweet grapes sour;
Emotions—need to cope with ya.

Powered sled,
Rev the throttle;
Caution fled,
No time to dawdle.

Maximum set
At a hundred and twelve;
Into the snow sled delves.
On myself make a bet.

Minor risk to longevity,
Reach speeds in excess
Of seventy;
Fly over convex sets

Of flakes pressed down,
Softened since dawn.
Purring loud, engine sound
Reveals I’ve left the ground.

But not to fear,
Bring your heart near:
‘Twas sweet gravity won
In my fun in the sun.

I fear I’ve been
Misunderstood;
‘Til clarity is found again,
And all made good,

I cope by taking on
Unnecessary risk.

© 2021 H.K. Longmore

Not pictured: the times I was going over 70 and getting airborne.

Donuts in an Empty Parking Lot

“You seem hesitant.”
The words echo in temporal space.
From squamous to sphenoid,
Thoughts race.

“Go away,” spoken to a notification.
Stirs up memories vague.
Emotional power of the plague,
Positives lean toward negation.

A fact shared
Or omitted—
Scale tared,
Over-analysis committed.

Grief Tantalean
Becomes grief obsess-ean;
Grief Promethean.

Relief
Requires efforts Herculean.
Answers Protean.

Seize seal shepherd
From behind; hold tight
While shapes shift for fright.
At last a voice heard:

“Son of Atreus,
What do you want from me?”
From mental prison to be freed,
To know what will be.

“Son of Atreus,
Why ask me thus?
Better for you not to know,
Not to learn what my mind holds.”

No future glimpse,
No respite from second guesses.
Seek out Tantalus,
Offspring of Zeus and nymph.

Parched tongue and lips
Inquired why, hands on hips.
Swift reply
With heavy sigh:

To drink, and not thirst;
To eat, and be sated.
“Me first,”
Tantalus waited.

Hands a scoop,
Water-soup
Brought to lips;
Fruit of bough
Into mouth slipped.

“You want to do donuts in an empty parking lot,
You want to put an end to over-thought;
To heal from childhood fears,
And teenage years,

“To not have your confidence
Stolen by the thief
Of yester-years’ defeats,
Nor drained by consequence

“Of verbal wounds, real;
Inflicting damage still;
Wounds that change perceive,
When only perception changed, self-deceived.

“You’ll have to wait until it snows.”
But there is another way I know.

© 2021 H.K. Longmore

Tantalus Lookout is to the left of this picture; as in, Diamond Head is visible from Tantalus Lookout.

Atomic Bonds

Two hydrogens
And an oxygen
Together played,
‘Til orbits
Overlapped.

Along came carbon,
Looking to fill
Her outer shell.
In close proximity,
One hydrogen
Nearly drawn away.

person washing his hand

Photo by Burst on Pexels.com

But σ bond
Not broken,
Carbon
Went away.

Now Hydrogen
Thinks he sees
Carbon
In every living thing.

Copyright © 2020 H.K. Longmore

A Note from Santa

Thanks for the cookies and milk! In exchange I leave you this limerick.
20190802_125753
There once was a visit from Santa
He ate of the cookies and Fanta
But the milk was not gone
So he stayed all night long
‘Til the reindeer were bored of their banter

Yours,
Santa

© 2019 H.K. Longmore

Aside

There are things I am willing to do but don’t want to do: this is part of sacrifice.

There are things I want to do, but am not willing to do: this is part of self-mastery.

There are things I am both willing to do and want to do: this is delight.

© 2019 H.K. Longmore

Melody and Counter

It was years ago,
But I wish it were only yesterday.
You were there,
Yes, you were there.

Melody to my counter melody,
And encouragement
For my improvement,
As my part I could not play.

Time and songs,
Performances, recitals passed.
I found a way to remember,
To improve:

I’d retreat to the river,
To the bridge;
Where I would be heard,
With none to harmonize.

At rehearsal last,
Familiar piece in folder found—
Dusted off for Christmastime;
Still I had the counter.

Remembering my old struggle,
I began to fret;
You still had the melody,
But you were absent yet.

And you still had
The encouragement,
If only in my mind;
Your words, your melody I recalled.

I played alone
And played it well;
Praise for impromptu solo
I received.

Where thanks for praise should have flowed,
My tongue instead remarked
How incomplete I, counter melody,
Was without you, melody.

How incomplete I was without you.

© 2018 H.K. Longmore

My First Single

I also am a musician. Check out my post about my first single on my music blog.

Just to Write

I need a rhyme
But not just to pass the time.
I need word play
To say I wrote today.

Installed a new app on my smartphone;
I have many skills I need to hone,
And talents too long
Under bushel banished.

The app tracks goals.
Completed all but one today.

Practiced banjo,
Trumpet,
Marching baritone,
Euphonium;

Road several miles
On a road bike;
Lifted weights
When I couldn’t repair the flat.

And all I lacked was this,
And had but a quarter hour
Or the day would get a red x.

Taking Control

“Take five of these three times a day”
The instructions say.
I try to comply,
But some days boundaries are merely implied.

The doctor wanted to give me
A powder for my wound,
But he, his supplier, and the grocery—
Out of stock, all three.

Lacking the powder, made from Chinese herbs,
I use what I have: Swedish Bitters,
Good for healing wounds of flesh;
I use a dropper to keep it fresh.

But my patience is tried,
So many gorgeous fall days passing me by:
Infection reduced, wound improving but still open.
I want control, if but a token.

I like to grow my own herbs,
Or buy them whole and grind myself,
But these herbs I’m taking are unfamiliar,
And I would need a guide to find them.

I picture myself wandering the Chinese countryside
With someone who has been there;
A basket over each shoulder
To collect what we should find.

We look for Cha Chi Huang,
We seek some Xian Feng Cao.
Eyes peeled for Liu Zhi Huang,
And don’t forget the Feng Wei Cao.

Returning with herbaceous treasures,
Some we plant, some we dry,
Make a tisane with standard measures;
I’m on the mend, and my heart could fly!

But now, against my joints’ complaints,
I must return to sleeping on the couch:
The friendliest positions
To protect my wound are on its cushions.

© 2017 H.K. Longmore