Good Riddance to Imprudent Riddance
The yuletide breeze was gyrating, birds migrating
When a tourist flagrantly sniggered and took a swing
Wading through the acrimonious saturation of the horizon
In my soggy eyelids, the harbingers of time beckon
With the phosphorescent shadows of the gloaming
In crimson and in tangerine; a shrill riddance chafing,
That seeps through the notches of rustic persiennes
Summoning an effluent whiff of premature senescence
That clawed into my toppling skin with a vicarious sin
Cloyed in a lethargic nostalgia, just like the current scene;
I docilely surmised another pensive all-night episode
Haplessly cajoling with the ceiling and groaning floorboard
Accompanied by a treacherous bride; this anxious anticipation
That shoves me trampling to drain my arsenal in attrition
And inflect the affable arms of my caressing facilities
From a superfluous card in a paper-cut to infinite amities
That resides in a shrouded house of gambling cards
An elixir to the qualms of abandonment in haphazard
Suffice enough to whittle valiance from my bones
And bid riddance to riddance and sing sticks and stones.
poem by Norman Santos
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Daze Of The Moiré Waves
Wave after wave, gust after gust
The phantoms that lurks and haunts
In this sea of treacherous hands
Waving for a slow dance, for riddance
Had their clandestine machinations
That endlessly rubbed sand into sand
Until they are finer than their whistling
And whiter than their demented dreams,
And surged tides after hungry tides
Devouring the clambering suppurations
That rivaled the pitch fathoms to rise
Only to dissipate in the endless toppling
And become tiny bubbles of forgetting
The phosphorescent shore and its descant
That fringes the lonely sea and her haze
Calls gust after gust, wave after wave
And with this drought I held in my heart
Abandoned by the arsenal of flames
The daze of the perfidious sea calls upon
My misbegotten misery, and in her ruse
That will devour my restricted bawl,
My anguished wails, and my groveling hopes
I stared endlessly resisting submission
But in this breadth of irrational obduracy
I have already drowned and the chance
Remained lurking upon the stark shore
Without leaving footprints to show
That the daze of the moiré waves
Had succumbed my stipulations.
poem by Norman Santos
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Goodbye & Good Riddance To Bad Luck
Getting bombed out on booze
Got nothing to lose
Run out of money
Disposable blues
Sleazy hotels
Like living in hell
The girls on the hustle
With nothing to sell
Want something for nothing
It's always the same
Keep pushing and shoving
And I'm down on the game
Always in trouble
Forever detained
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
And good riddance to bad luck
Well spread out the news
There's a free man loose
Back out of jail
And chasing some flueze
Padlocks and chains
Broken the chains
Lay down a claim
For monetary gains
Wonder what's coming
Out for the take
Freedom for loving
And lust for the taste
Eyes are wide open
(Wild?) to the game
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
And good riddance to bad luck
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goodbye Good Riddance To Bad Luck
Getting bombed out on booze
Got nothing to lose
Run out of money
Disposable blues
Sleazy hotels
Like living in hell
The girls on the hustle
With nothing to sell
Want something for nothing
Its always the same
Keep pushing and shoving
And Im down on the game
Always in trouble
Forever detained
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
And good riddance to bad luck
Well spread out the news
Theres a free man loose
Back out of jail
And chasing some flueze
Padlocks and chains
Broken the chains
Lay down a claim
For monetary gains
Wonder whats coming
Out for the take
Freedom for loving
And lust for the taste
Eyes are wide open
(wild? ) to the game
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
And good riddance to bad luck
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mote
Precipitating into the dust
Wind tussling in a thrust
Riveted amidst a city
With no eyes for sympathy
Tossed in an endless brunt
All too tired for this bunt
Serendipity is uninvited
To the heart of the blighted
Caught in the streak of tangerine
An afternoon for the pristine
Where do I resign?
In the absence of all benign?
When cinders depart the fire
When dust seizes to fly
What utopia do they find?
The good riddance for the blind?
poem by Norman Santos
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Feel Good Haze II
Hovering ugly ducks
A flying-v in riddance
In little things we sulk
Rub it in for a little dance
poem by Norman Santos
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Her Own Departure
Her own departure is a show.
a big bag hanging on her
shoulders, her left hand
holding a coin purse,
her right crumpling a
white handkerchief wet
with her tears.
she is crying. Her blue
blouse fits her fat and her
black pants are loose
like two shirts.
She wears her white rubber
shoes, sort of telling me
that she will be running
towards the place
that she will be hiding
for days.Or just towards
the airport. Or bus station
or port.
I don't really care.
She takes the ATM
with her, and the credit cards.
She does not tell me
where she is going.
She gives the hint that
it will be far away from
this cold house.
I am staying. I am glued
to this house.
I am silent and peaceful
now. I still have many things
to think and write.
My first poem after she leaves
shall be titled, 'Good riddance! '
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How You Left Your Willowy Dress
The monsoon swooned
with a glacial riddance
and I abide the tempest
because in the sifting
I am more alive
than the vertical quietude
of this unrivaled squall
inside the moon's belly
Before she departs
and leave cobwebs
in the silence of the firmament
she whispered a symphonic
lamented augury
and left her willowy dress
sprawled on the shore
of my sleep's phantasms
A saline surrender
lulled a chagrin bell
into its squandering
because I had a dream
that lasted a lifetime's sleep
I woke under a sunny cloud
lost like a tourist
inside my own head
then I picked up the dress
that fits you generously
under the moonshine
donned in your phosphorescent
tea-rose veil of clouds
And I knew what she meant
when she said goodbye
before usurping every sand,
every frothing wave,
and every palming trees
on my scanty island
poem by Norman Santos
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Unforgiving Riddance
On the nights of stellar sharpness
Like the pixels of a lacquer photograph
I reckoned how you came to reality
Crossing the plethora of footsteps
And the myriad of engulfing seas
Your cold embrace of good riddance
Embraced by a lion's crown
Folded unto my chest and back
Like a broken ribcage splintered
From the steadfast monolith that you were
Your words surmounted the staves
Of the ladder you let down,
My guilt dangled like the last words
Catapulted at each other's citadel,
The redolence of yesterday flits
With all the far-fetched promises
I ask for all your poison again
So the faith you once injected
Will erode with everything
In its metronomic slumber
But we know that it's untrue
Like all the messages mislead,
Like all the times misconstrued,
Like all the trespasses abjured,
Like all the tethers unknotted,
Like all his unsolicited defenses -
On my end of the dagger
Hilt across your protection
I only hope for your strength,
I only hope for your convoluted visions
Scampering from the haunting shadows
That descended in a reluctant sunset
And the recuperation that was ahead
But we both know that it's untrue
For I only hope for yesterday
Bending backwards from the future
Even of the myriad of my today
The sun will soon set for you
With all the honesty that I wanted
And this riddance will be forgiven
In the cobwebbed chamber
I hold close to where you were.
poem by Norman Santos
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Claret Pagoda in the Cerulean River
A slow waltz
In the crimson line
Of the dusk's horizon
Drifts me back
Into the cerulean river
Where I used to glide
In canoes with lovely people
Incarcerating myself;
My thoughts, my squalors,
My despairs, my bliss,
That no soul would understand
In a profound reclusion
That not a single soul
Ever understood.
In a slow waltz
Between my hands
And the grating oars,
And between the paddles
And the sporadic tides,
I have feigned a smile
With the jocund compulsion
As we draw nearer to the sun
But my soul is left ashore
Feigning a lacquer smile
That no soul
Ever understood
In a slow waltz
From five forlorn years
I bid riddance,
For long forlorn!
And we brushed our heels
On the cold river's
Reaching hands
And ferry ourselves
In a claret pagoda
Of grotesque titivations
Of jumbled jewelries
From writings to revelries
Piercing through
The thicket of ignorance
That deemed us back
Into estranged acquaintances
And we go back into
Moving towards the dusk
Only this time,
I am alone
As I spew this robust
Dreams and idyllic spells
That should buoy our pagoda
My lost friends,
If I still have you
In spite of losing you
In the flourishing beckons
Of the tides;
In merriment
And in defeat,
I'm building a claret pagoda
In the semblance of the sun's
Skin and viscera
Because that's what we are
In this hostile river;
A contrast in the toppling
Threshold of the firmament,
Take my invitation
And let the current bludgeon
You back into the latent
Times of our concatenations.
In a slow waltz
Between my emollient soul
And the serrated spines
Slathering the pen,
I envisioned a pagoda
Pristine in claret
Defying the cerulean water,
By myself
In a slow waltz
With solitariness
That no soul would ever
Understand.
poem by Norman Santos
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Sticks And Stones
Sticks and stones, might break my bones
And words, shall never harm me,
I was told that story, when I was a Boy
Along with the birds and bees, I believe
So I lived my life, through that advice
That was given to me in my youth,
That sticks and stones would break my bones
And words could do no harm was true.
So I stayed away from sticks and stones
And tried never calling anyone names
But the sticks still arrived, in my life
And also the words of hate and pain.
But then I had healed from broken bones
And bruises and all the nasty cuts,
It made me stronger, then I thought longer
About the words of hate and such.
Because the words of hate, I couldn't escape
As I noticed them around everyday
Destroying ones soul, until life they'd let go
Or asking GOD for vengeance as they'd pray.
Sticks and stones had broke my bones
And words of hate had really harmed me,
As I look around, I can still hear the sound
Of hate, and belittlement, and bigotry.
There are still broken bones and nasty cuts,
As I see as I enter every day with a walk,
But doctors heal then, as they are new again
But the words of hatred never balks.
In my life I have made many choices,
And I hope with one I don't stand alone
Never to ever use any word of hate
As I don't mind getting hit with sticks or stones.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Into Your Harried Night I Break In Silence
The cicadas beat their metallic wings to compensate
the vehicles lying asleep in the oil-black road
without a trifle of noise - away with the moon
in a peripatetic espionage for the myriad
of faults swimming through the abysmal horizon
and here, in the glacial nooks of darkness, I trample
to a wistful invitation - to pain and its bride
unveiled from the lustrous gilt and the castigations
unraveled from the knotted tapestry its frangible
and haplessly finagling heart - still and alone tonight
This silence sojourned to listen to you
as your world subsides with all the aeons
slithering into me with an impertinent pang
and I break for you, like a lifeless eye upfront
a motionless gloaming succumbing to its demise
And to break for you - your tides beating the shore
and the praying boulders on its shoulder, is all I can do
after ousting my sparrow-breaths on your mornings
or my tacit poems docked on your cigarette smoke,
I do not intend to come back like a smothering whiff
in the midst of your sudden toppling and heaving
I break upon you, like a fist hurled at the sky
though I would never shatter the fastidious heavens
and though your hills loomed with secret legends,
but in my slivering, asunder from yours, I fold
like a sibilant knife dreading the patina of blood
I hope for your vitriol to whet itself as it rolled
upon the seething lions under the flames
What a farcical charade has this life become
that I can only exhibit the shadows of our dusk
and its acquiescent pedagogy, for tonight, you break
like how my world of stones and graves began
The art of war is etched in your palms and maps
Come back to your open window and lighted lamp
when the night hearkens your lacerating cries
stronger than the infernal demise that you will break
in the larceny of sounds in this transatlantic night
poem by Norman Santos
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Good Riddance to Folly
Good riddance to folly
There’s no need to say sorry
I would forgive you without request.
Should I find you in sorrow
I’ll sleep till tomorrow
Then bless you with the time I spent resting.
To make the best of the worst
Fresh from the rotten
There’s no need for forgiveness
For I hath already forgotten.
poem by David Lacey
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Surmised Garden
How true and astounding was your soft laugh,
how smooth and flawlessly you beckoned,
but it was an edge of sword above our luck,
and it was a riddance, a death toll, that echoed.
Surmised garden ideally, shed rose blossoms,
so we attended all of this, a memory of glow,
because my feelings reached for your emotions,
and cried as my steepers in, allowed of the flow.
Frontal of heart, a crucifix, became a blunt cry,
of those stingers that once convinced us to abide,
in a sweet eternity, in stable skies and strive,
and it was a promise of a Nyx, our unguarded pride.
Bouquet of myrtle, you offered me, a rain's drops
a close exploded lightning became our symbol,
for ever after we molded words, our souls force,
and it was your dominion the clouds of your idol.
Dominion of altitudes in an immense of heights,
where we emit eternally, outside of any horde,
to love the alliteration of worlds never surmised,
and it was your smiling my soul's alone world.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Tangerine
Tangerine, turning green
Cellophane, window pane
Socialise, paralysed
Plastic faces suck me dry, tangerine, tangerine, tangerine, tangerine
Chorus:i know its sad, lifes just a piece of fruit
Touch down, new ground
Stop living on the moon - (repeat chorus)
Twenty eight, suffocate
Take a ride, see me fly
Detonate, feel it break
See myself disintegrate, tangerine, tangerine, tangerine, tangerine
(chorus)
See it as I climb, the rain burns in my eyes
So catch me as I fall away, tangerine, tangerine, tangerine, tangerine
(chorus)
I know its sad...
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Taverns
Amongst buoyant chortles
And charlatan tales
From sinewy gutters
Of jocund corruptions
The wafting jigger
And latticing clambers
Of fervent tongues brought
Nostalgia dissipated
From the clogged pores
Of the shriveling skin,
And melancholia was
As evasive as the wind
With the yearning dithering
In the echopractic reveling
Frosted eyes mounted the seams
Of barricading sierras
And you wouldn't hear
The riddance of the opened doors
In these taverns
You may rest your head
And haunt with
The phantom of the blunt
Susurrations of the floor
Clad with anguished blood
Purging the mausoleum gore
Residing in the bones
In these taverns
You may play the puppet
Stringed to your own
And play the criminal
In a sordid carnival
Botching to pilfer
The hooked gambler's
Clandestine pockets
Or somebody else's
Putrefaction
And be hailed
A hero
In these taverns
You will go astray
With the roars of
Singeing throats
And in the predicament
Impaled with grills
You shall be found
Moseying
With charred feet
And holding
A sedentary poem
Basking in the eyes
Of inebriation
In these taverns
There's a pot of gold
Swimming with the arrows
That struck the strings
Of fettered birds
And they are winnowed
By the fluent humming
Of false hopes
And sedative truths.
In these taverns
You may come
And you may go,
As everyone else will,
But you would leave
With the toll
Of a spiteful
Meandering.
poem by Norman Santos
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Gouging the Sun's Vessels
Here we go again, after forty-seven sunsets
Counting the insurmountable steps
Ballasting in the wicks of fireballs emblazing
Subtly stirring the warm nostalgic lullaby
Soused in a maladroit tangerine fire
That parcels the dirty grass blades oozing
From the notches of the downtrodden path
Here, again we bask enthralled to the wafts
Of the gloaming's ubiquitous crowd
Here, we find the footsteps heaved
In the sands desperately fertilizing
In an echopraxic melancholia
Here, we linger with the truant and the charlatan
Five thousand footsteps slumbering in the bassinet
Of inebriated foreign tongues
Stomping upon the malingering apprehension
Mirth and gloom registered in the visage of our liaison
But the sun shall not halt for the summer eve sky
Or the toppling pillars of our frail constitutions
We shall not digress with the violent gush
Rather we let the body be laid to rise
As the sojourner of the sun's setting
Without groveling, permit it be
And watch the footsteps thaw
Into the harlequin sun's maw
We are the wafting and the wisp
Of every dusk's shrouded sleep
And in the oblivious latticing of rays
We shall wander aimlessly the afternoon asleep
poem by Norman Santos
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Do Not Jump Into Conclusion
do not jump into
a very bad conclusion that
the one who leaves
and who shall be considered
as the poem
called 'Good riddance'
is my wife
or my concubine
or my common-law-wife
or my girflfriend
or my housemaid,
as i am telling you,
she can be any woman of this world
she can be any wife of any husband
who knows the many versions of what a
departure can be
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Why We Fight pt 1 (Lock and Load)
You’ve walked out the garden and watched your hands go
From picking up berries to picking up ammo
The same sticks and twigs that build up your village
Fight off the conquers and plunders and pillage//
-Stones and sticks and sticks and stones
Gather them up to protect your home
And when needed use them on some bones
Lay them all down to outline your zone
Raise them and burn them on your throne
Monsters can’t outrun the sticks and stones-
Sharpen your spears to take down your dinner
You and the beast can’t both be the winner
It’s about time you got out of this slump
Load up your brains to outsmart the hunt
poem by P.R. Prosper
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