Dark the night sky,
Fell, the foul zephyr.
Brackish black water
Broken by two beady eyes.
Iago has returned.
Creeping up the coast,
He seeks to insert himself
Where least welcome is his self;
They’d prefer him to roast.
He hears a patrol
Coming down the lane,
Hides among barrels of petrol;
They’ll not have his mane.
The patrol stops,
Blocking his intended path.
To avoid the cops
He’ll have to subdue his wrath,
And take an alternate route.
Sneaking down a back alley,
He has no time to dally;
When bright lights remove all doubt:
He’s been followed.
Spinning ’round,
He sees the patrol closed in behind;
In front lie the hounds,
He sees he is confined.
“Welcome to my table,”
Greets the queen,
Gesturing to that of fable,
Round and now white and green.
Ambushed.
At the Siege Perilous,
Sits formidable foe:
Sir Galahad looks ready to row.
Iago takes a seat, voice querulous.
“At this table, all you have to say is heard by all,”
the queen instructs.
Iago’s face falls:
This rule his scheming obstructs.
“You are now cursed to always meet at this table,
Every time you set foot upon our shores.
Think not that you are able
To remove this curse from your core.”
His vitriol laid bare,
He tells the reasons
For despair;
But it’s not his season.
“So you have naught but speculation
To lay before this confabulation?
Each of your points in turn countered?”
The queen sees his plan has foundered.
“Then you are dismissed,
Thank your for your time.
Now back into the brine,
Return to the abyss.
You’ll not be missed.”
©2021 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, cathartic, iago, othello, poem, relationships
Wounded, I limp back from the shore
Where Iago and I dueled a week before.
Though I see no scabs nor scars,
Infection festers under my skin.
Simple suggestion,
Not banshee wail,
Was his effective weapon.
What cure is there for my ail?
I sought an answer from the sea,
But there was no reply.
I requested knowledge
From the rolling hills,
An answer faint
Floated away on the breeze.
The city streets I pounded,
Pleading for release,
But it was temporary,
Ill effects of Iago’s dart,
Wolf pack of lies
Still closing in around my heart.
There are labors to perform,
So I gather my strength;
Wounds mention but not at length,
Mostly I ignore.
Floating o’er the ether,
Slipping through the speakers,
Dulcet sounds envelop the space.
No siren song luring away,
No piper’s call to come and play;
No healing light in which to bathe.
Naught but work and banter.
Yet it’s what I needed,
It seeps inside;
Finds the wolves,
Turns the tide.
I’m ninety percent there
But the day is done;
I try again the city streets.
Still no cure, but I quicken my pace.
Almost home, bits become current,
Current transduced into a familiar song;
Strength taken from the bridge:
But if you’ve got the angst or you’ve got the ardor
Blues Traveler, Stand
You might faint from the fight but you’re gonna find it
For every challenge could have paradise behind it
Elation finds me
And takes away
The remaining tinge;
My skin feels whole again.
© 2021 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, cathartic, iago, othello, poem, relationships
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?
Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, cathartic, iago, othello, poem, relationships
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.
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
If it doesn’t work out,
If I don’t get to have her
In my life,
I will save myself from despair;
I will go to the grape vine,
Find some grapes out of reach.
I’ll tell myself lies to ease my pain:
“It would have never worked out.
She’s too young for me.”
If she is taken from me by another,
Or if she is taken from me by fate,
I’ll cherish what time we had;
I’ll make sweeter still, and keep near,
My fond memories of hands and heart;
The low-hanging fruit: I’ll recall the butterflies.
Harvesting Grapes, Finding Spider Egg Sacs
If she is taken from me by fate,
Or if she is taken from me by another,
I’ll soothe my heart trying to harvest sour grapes.
©2016 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, cathartic, coping, love, poem, relationships, resilience
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Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, consequence, coping, divine whisper, omen, poem, portent, presage, relationships, secret
I’ve got to stop eating
Caterpillars for lunch.
They keep loitering on my lettuce;
Skulking in my sprouts.
When I put a fork in it,
They race to the back of my mouth.
I try to spit them out,
But they parachute down my throat.
Maybe they crave
Warmer temperatures inside;
Perhaps they thrive
On acid hydrochloric.
But faster development they find,
Until ’round dinner time,
I find I can but barely speak
For the butterflies trying to escape.
©2016 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged butterfly, caterpillar, coping, desire, impressions, love, nervous, poem, relationships
Trapped!
You feel stuck inside.
Turn the knob and pull.
Breathe in, break free;
Wide open spaces,
Fresh places and faces,
You can see for miles.
Step out into the unknown,
Let your inhibitions go,
Enjoy the ride.
Take a step inside;
Close the door behind.
As one door closes another appears,
Turn the knob and pull.
Turn the knob and pull.
Turn, turn, turn the knob.
And pull.
Step inside, come inside.
Here’s a nice jacket for you,
Your name on the door.
What you’re about to see?
Don’t panic, it’s all in your mind.
Lay down as you shrink small.
Strap yourself in, follow the hare down the hole.
Do you follow the white rabbit
Wearing your white jacket
In a room with white padded walls
Where no one answers your calls
Strapped in to save from a fall?
Let go, let go,
The doors you’ve opened
Lead nowhere worth being.
Breathe in, break free;
Leave behind the soft cushioned walls.
Open the door, return where you were,
Leave behind the thrilling ride—
Your lonely cage.
Best not to start, but no matter;
Return where you came from,
Return from afar.
There’s balm in a basin,
There’s tears on those faces,
The faces who knew you, though marred.
We can’t tell you how long
Until you’re free from the scars
But trust the promise, it’s not wrong.
Distrust on the rise:
You see no blemishes here—
But that’s proof of His promise sublime.
© 2016 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged atonement, consequence, counting the cost, empathy, forgiveness, poem, relationships, resilience
Bass Clef mid-F, in eighths.
Bass Clef mid-F, final quarter.
Salute completed, we stand.
To the left a head panned.
Those eyes contained
Unmistakable pain.
Pain at my performance?
Pain at my conformance?
The show must go on.
Standing, Bass Clef top line, staccato,
Then drop an octave, staccato; final note.
Applause.
But still the pain gives me pause.
It was the dry throat,
I tell myself.
It was the sloped chair or stage,
I want to believe.
But my lips, not the stage,
Missed the notes.
My finger, not the chair,
Depressed the wrong valve.
Show concluded,
We pack up and depart.
I watch for those red eyes,
But they don’t look at me.
My silence? Unintended;
Trying to fathom
What I cannot see.
Do I misunderstand?
Rough knuckles,
White back of hand,
In close proximity;
Moment in time ever on my mind.
Copyright © 2016 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged atonement, bliss and glad life, cathartic, choice, commitment, communication, consequence, coping, empathy, forgiveness, frustrations, introspection, love, misunderstanding, poem, relationships, resilience, timing
A touch is made to lamé
With blade épée,
One’s mettle to assay;
Or for swordplay.
Another is to allay
The dread of possible fey—
A rope, not frayed,
A climber to belay.
One touch doth bewray
An attitude blasé
Toward fine bouchée
Or rich pâté
To one’s dismay,
A touch someday
Arises from sashay,
Dress, not step, soigné.
You may find it cliché,
Often child’s play:
A touch to parlay
One browsing goods you purvey.
And though it lacks visé,
This is no hearsay:
Loving touché
Alive through envié,
Becomes not forté
But Woodsman’s wedge doth convey;
On a line partway
Betwixt foray and force play.
Intended to assert revendiqué,
Yet with gentle touché,
A chasm généré
Between source and marqué.
© 2016 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged cathartic, communication, desire, forgiveness, jealousy, poem, relationships
Y at-il communicaton
Lorsque la conversation
Doit passer par un intermédiaire?
Y at-il le respect
Quand une simple plainte
Ne peut pas être géré en personne?
Quand les gens ne me respectent pas assez
Pour me parler de choses que je fais
Cela dérange eux afin
Il me amène près
Pour le sentiment que je devais une fois avant
Vouloir de disparaître.
Posted in journal
Tagged bliss and glad life, cathartic, communication, introspection, relationships, resilience
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Musings of a Kunderian Monster 