The Poet

The Poet

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Sometimes It Ain't Pretty; August 13, 2017 by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Hello Peoples,

It feels good to be posting another edition of this poetry page. This time around I am doing something a little different. I am posting poetry that I usually would keep to myself. I don't usually share this for three reasons.

Reason the first - It's a bit darker than my usual work. It deals with negative aspects of my inner workings. It also presents some of the apocalyptic imagery that flows through my brain.

Reason the second - Ordinarily, for the sake of clear communication, I write poems in very concrete terms. I try to avoid vague imagery and esoteric symbolism. That is a personal rule for the poetry I write to share. For what I keep to myself, i allow my mind and pen to run wild. So, in this episode, you will get a peek at my rambling brain.

Reason the last - Most of these poems incorporate rhyme. In this ultra cool, deeply intellectual, post-post-post modern age of emotive "free style" and hip-hop expressionism, I know rhyme is sneered down upon. But hey, I like it cause it makes it easy to remember, it sets a nice musical rhythm and, I'm Black dammit! You may not know it but, rhyming is as deeply rooted in African-American culture as is a syncopated rhythm and a strong bass line.

So check it out and, hopefully, enjoy!
Humbly, Ron Porter

Give Me by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Give me a soft, warm, silken thigh;
and a trace of mischief in her eye.
Give me heated passion and a tender sigh.
Give me heaven before I die!

Dying Light, A Tanka by Ronald S Porter ©2017

For a new world to be born
At the world’s demise we wait
At the world’s demise
In the dying of the light
We have tasted joy.

Forest Night, An Idyllic Poem by Ronald S Porter ©2017

twilight’s shadows extend like grasping hands
in the deep woods, night preys on the day
nocturnal eyes flash into wakefulness
silent silhouettes slink, arrayed in brown and grey
hunters run like ghosts over vale and hill
and make no sound until they make the kill
fatal fangs and rending claws abound
tearing talons and hooked beaks fall from the sky
in darkness weak are separated from strong
the weak die; the strong sound a victory cry.

The Valley Of The Shadow (revised) by Ronald S Porter ©2017

The valley of the shadow of death
is oft lit by the glow of neon signs
and, populated by decaying souls
struggling to hold the rot at bay.
The shadow false upon needle and spoon
where squalor squats in reeking rooms
Where children gaze from empty eyes,
like those of prison camp survivors who
inhale and exhale despair in every breath.
Down in the valley, we all
stand in the shadow of death.

R.S.V.P. by Ronald S Porter ©2017

cryptic apocalyptic visions flip
elliptically across my brain
neurotic exotic erotic robotic mimes
stand in line and kick in time
How do they bear the strain?
Blazing cities collapse in ruin
rumors of war are all brewing
doom and gloomers, in fits of humor
warn of tumors and shed their bloomers
it’s almost the day of reckoning
of melting mountains and burning air
be there of be there be sure to style your hair
wear gowns and tuxes and a boutonniere
Armageddon will be a formal affair.

Love Song For Lunatics by Ronald S Porter ©2017

sweet decay
beauty so vile
lambs innocent
slashed for sacrifice
profane angels
sing above the madness
weeping ice sickle tears
everything hurts
and all is numb
I fear...
screaming silence
Like Dorothy
back from Oz
the world, the world
has lost all color
awaken to
the kiss of death
come and lie
here in my arms
find hateful affection
and I will
kill you
with my love

It’s Mostly Greek To Me by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Adolescent creamy peanut butter dreams
neath the butterscotch colored sky;
just because it’s not vanilla
does not mean it’s chocolate
gossamer wings offer no protection
angels get raped and killed around here
fairies are torn apart and eaten
When Medusa danced for dinner
her tresses angrily hissing
Heracles stamped Aegean shit from his feet
bellowing for more meat and wine
Cinnamon twisted storm clouds rise
sunrise roars in gold and rose
Hades hands out pomegranates
While Discord distributes apple pies.

Drowning Man? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Anguish and anger assault my soul
they make a gaping hole
acidic emotions corrode
and undermine
the borders of heart; the walls of mind
People say time will heal
all wounds-ease the pains I feel
So, I sit and wonder
if I can tread water that long
of if I will go under
The pull of the riptide is so strong
it seems t’will tear me asunder
Ere the maelstrom sucks me down
and I in corrosive emotion drown
or will the promised healing come
before my spirit fatigues
and madness take my mind?
I can only hope I stay afloat
and not run out of time.



Vague Images Of Destruction by Ronald S Porter ©2017

The time has come, the Balrog screamed
to speak of apocalyptic things
of cannibal feasts and horrendous beasties
of hidden rings and magic kings;
of sneaky hobbits and turkey gobbets
and flying snakes with wings.
Demons are dancing in the dawning;
Like a children’s choir, fiends sing in the night
I eat Post Toasties  with the ghostie
of Bela Legosi. No, that doesn’t seem right.
Something evil walks this way
in the shadows by the edge of running water.
The daughters of Lot burn incense, and incest,
in mountain caves just beyond
the smoldering crater that once was a city
now destroyed in the reckoning just begun.

Walk In the Rain by Ronald S Porter ©2017

far off thunder in the twilight
hobos dance in cotton fields
an old man on the porch
in a rocking chair plays guitar
Me and Old Blind Darby we
have walked a million miles of starlight
the wolf at the gate, eyes the henhouse-
the bulldog in the yard won’t let him in.
in the abandoned Baptist church
out on Beaumont road
Big Rhonda sips bootleg whiskey then
throws back her heads and laughs
Winding red dirt country roads
neath piney woods dripping rain
Journey down these back roads once
you’ll never see or be the same
And, the thunder is on the mountain now
the hobos caught the midnight train
Me and Old Blind Darby don’t say nothing
we just walk on, in the rain

Wasted Day Gone By by Ronald S Porter ©2017

we tried to keep our secrets
but everybody could tell
we were on our way to hell and
a long way from the wishing well

The Oracle Of Delphi belched
the whispered softly in my ear
the truth of my favorite hidden fear
( was anyone close around to hear?)
there was only you at the end of the pier

we went on down to chocolate town
where all the living have lost hope
looking to score a spoonful or more
for something-something to help us cope
at the grey house at the bottom of the slope
we sat til dawn there and pulled on rope

wired and tired we dragged back home
gold and rose was the morning sky
so high we fell asleep without a try
some might say we wasted the day gone by
I reply we may not have got a lot done
but at least we didn’t die

The Temple Of Amore’ by Ronald S Porter ©2017

No longer a pitiful penitent, me!
Nor do I again, with bare feet walk
upon shards of broken glass
that cut my flesh like broken glass,
to stand at the altar of Amore’s temple
and kiss the idle idol’s ass.

 Rather; with torch in hand, stand I
pondering of all my errors, the oddest-
that so much torment I caused myself
seeking the favor of this false goddess.

This lifeless likeness, hewn of stone,
though having no heart has caused my own

to hope; to hurt; to be haunted
by dreams of loving arms to hold me;
of warmth and affection I so wanted.

Previous promises, of love, proved as but a joke.
Each time I tried to have and hold
it was as futile as grasping smoke.

Yet, always to this temple I’d come
offering supplication and sacrifices anew.
No more, Amore do I enter the door
to pray and beg for romance and

and bring more ignore offerings to you
No broken heart to lay at your feet,
no glittering dreams to adorn your crown.

I’ve forsaken belief and, found relief,
for I come not as a devotee this time
but; to loot this temple and, burn it down!