THE JEALOUS WIDOW

           His childhood, long gone now pressed between the folds of some ancient text. He conveys his condition looking out over the bough as the cruel frigid sea twist reddens his pale cheeks. He is distressed by his contrast desires, how can he both hate his mistress while longing for the bounty of God’s bedewed creatures hidden within her cold blue bosom.

            She, at home remembering the very moment he, the watcher of her emotions departed. Needing him to stay and defend the hearth. The spoilt stench of his avoidance still adorned the air just beyond her tender nose. He would withdraw, as before into nothingness, leaving her to fend the harshness alone. So, like the docile and uncertain child longing for her mother’s reassuring hand she places her soft foot upon the path. Calm within her warm soul of her wise choice.

            The cold wet storm brutally scrapes at her window frame. She knows he is unsecure and at the clemency of the sea. Jealous of how she, the sea calls to her lover even when his feet are dry and The fastened to her bedroom floorboards. She knows that he could never truly belong to her. As she surveys the far away waves tossing aside long lost, and soulless vessels. She secerns that he soon will grace her entranceway again.

-Johnny V.

Happiness Alludes Me

Peace and joy are so often out of my childish reach. Worry and guilt cloud me and pierce my gentle side. I clutch at my iron heart, while hopelessly trying to wrap each lazy limb. Contentment is but fleeting to my troubled spirit like the drop of morning dew upon the dying rose.

-Johnny V.

Resistless Attention.

"I have a use for you." She told me a lifespan ago, but my heart has yet to pretermit the memory from its violet gloom. She used me for a brief instant, since then my inclination for her has not faltered, nor lessened inside my dark eyes.

By practice she discards her wanton lovers like picayune scraps of grit hidden gingerly inside her finespun table-linen. Me, she kept by her incline like a token of esteem given her by an admirer, with a hero's wandering eye.

I jerk at her pleaded skirt, like a wounded and needy child begging for its mother's resistless attention. She grants me one timid glance then brushes me aside like a pesky flea. She has a beauty that could peak the marvel of total strangers. I the straw boss, once robed in warrior vesture, alone behold the shroud and empty grave.

-Johnny V.

Abysmal Joy

In her grasp, I am clouded with confusion and dubiety, for she speaks mildly but with forked tongue. Her lavishness and kindness captured my vision and heart at our first foregathering. She holds my heart in her cold hands, and does so with careless regard. She nestled her unfermented concern like a farmer’s water pump, my devotion persists like a mountain stream, and my arousal flows freely. She enjoys keeping me in the shadows always wondering her next footmark to come, her abysmal joy in my tortur’d heart doth lie. From her burnished throne, she manipulates my every incite, watching my hapless reactions.

-Johnny V.

Stench of Betrayal

She fastened the expectation of tenderness in my eyes, only to reject and refuse my access. She holds back my gaze just long enough to hypnotize my needs, then turns from me with dismissal. She requires that I cling to her bosom, but it is chilled and stiff. I plead to her in need of fondness and compassion, but I am met only with lips shut and words unsaid. Her breath is as the rose who's unfold scents the air. It lingers just above my soul becoming sullen with the stench of betrayal.

-Johnny V.

Misshaped Stones

He could see and hear the chilly mountain stream rolling along beside him. He looks left to see a dwarfish animal frightened by his presence,  scurry away to safety. The ground beneath his feet is not steady and his footsteps are tender because of it. The cool air teases his warmth flesh and sunlight brightens past his shadow.

The smell of pine is mature in the air current and the is reminded of a Christmas tree, and the delight that comes with it. He gathers some small misshaped Stones and watches as they splash into the cold clear water. His proffer is deep and his lungs fill with uninfected coolness, he is content.

The solitude makes his focus stronger, he is able to purview his life in a much clearer sense without all the clouds and doubt. His soul feels scant now empty of the lament and untune that haunts him daily.

-Johnny V

Misled Sheep

Lunacy is winning the conflict ripping away at my brain and unreceptive flesh. Leaving me trapped in an indulgent prison with an open door. I try to quiet the voices but their laughter drowns out my plea. Gentleness shall not lie in me this illustrious night, and my sole companions fear and self loathing remain. God does not give grace to vain and tortured men such as I. Instead he leaves me to my own inadequate enduringness to fight monsters as of yet unknown.

The almighty does not see me as the helpless and misled Sheep in need of a Shepard, but as the revolting and sin leveled goat best served by the butcher's blade. So he turns to me his backbone, granting me no vision of his ordained face. I beg for mercy from his affectionate and wise soul, but grant it he will not. To my knees I do fall pulling at my cutis and praying the vocalization will cease.  But I am to be unprotected alone with my tormentor, veins unconcealed to his every whim.

-Johnny V.

Slumber

The sun, long ago unseeable behind the distant horizon, dark had crept past his inhabit. Even the fresh candle upon his mantle does little to cease the blindness. But he takes no joy in his pending quietus, she will not allow him to traverse the river of slumber. His cold and passionless demon shall cloud his mind, leaving it to search for lucidity which will never belong to his spirit. He will lay sleepless letting his mentation and fears argue with his necessity.

He stares from dark frowning eyes to an upper surface he had put long ago to memory, hoping this nightfalls moon's shadows will be unique. But like his ancestors' bones kept in their dusty urns they shall remain unrevised. So each twilight he is left in a crib that refuses its sole utility, and with teeth that cannot spit. Knowing that when the darkest and most violent hour arrives he shall be forced to greet it with wide and unfastened eyes.

-Johnny V.

Waiting

My mind turns weary and is in a state of mist, she draws at my heart with false strings tied to delicate and lovely fingers. She sees my scars and giggles, for she knows so many hold her mark. She takes pride in her mightiness over my necessity. I turn to flee, but with one beguiling express, she freezes my escape. I must meet her needs, and obey her every wish.

I am saddled with only a frosty silence, since her vanity requires no response. She takes custody of my helpless gaze with eyes as dark and beautiful as pools of blue blood. I am evermore her's to command. What fallacies she carries in her heart I know not. Instead she lays me down to wait upon a newly made bed of nails. I welcome the pain as I await for her next tender bidding.

-Johnny V

Victim Shower

            She bathes her alabaster skin in the blood of deceit, allowing her pores to imbibe their mid-day fill. But in her presence, sounds of pleasure doth cease, and drown in a plume of gory red. She shall ne’er allow guilt to benumb her palsied hand. Beware, for she arrives a young and noble gentlewoman draped in long locks of red, but below her mirth and joy grey-torn ringlets wave.

             She opens her false heart and in her arms, will encompass you like a tender traveler. She smiles in pretend friendship and will raise her goblet high. But keep watch for dark and drab is the robe that wraps her form. She giggles while envy waves her burning swords, she forgets to evince warmth and ceases to weep. At her altar, she tends not to the bridegroom’s health, but to her hapless victim shower alone. So, shun her fictious charm and walk past her aura, else blindness shall leave thee forlorn.

-Johnny V.

Counterfeit Lips

COUNTERFEIT LIPS

        She attracts men like lonely bees to honey, and draws them in with falsity and knavery. Invents a miry channel with her faux tears, and portrays the unfortunate to want to rescue the damsel in hardship. Then one by one she picks at their manhood and strips them naked, once they lay open and dependent she cuts their mercy to the marrow with steel sharper than Persian sword.

Beware the fille who tends the flora in which lilies do paler grow, for she will shout to her beggar-spies, and with desolation hold her dreary court. She tosses aside her unholy robes and dons an uninfected dress made of blue clouds. Take aloofness far from her mucilaginous charm, do no listen to the whispers of her footsteps. Disregard her counterfeit lips and greedy lies, for she will produce bloody limbs to fill her crystal well, and chant the holy mass alone.

-Johnny V.

Trump

His lies spew from his mouth and drain the dregs of happiness' bowl, and skilled in detest and cozen. Do not be fooled by his off-key smile and gleaming eyes, for hate fills his soiled heart, and soul. He seeks to enhance only those already seated on thrones of gold, shun those of darker hue, and degrade the feminine. There is no joy in his soma for it holds only expiry and despair for those unlike him.

His feeble endeavors to pull together is riddled with hateful and devise rhetoric. He recollect not love or mercifulness and greets even the most miniscule slight with Hitler's wrath. His tongue is littered with choler, and racism, with no regard for the fairer gender. His arrogance is boundless yet his insecurity knows no limit. His damage lies in that he evaluates he knows and understands that which he will never comprehend.

-Johnny V.

Angel Song

           Her strength is her tenderness, she rains mercifulness upon all in her study, beauty clings to her as a cotton dress in a warm summer breeze. She is my Princess and give me gracility with her love each glorious day. She dotes on her progeny with Mary’s gentle care, and takes plume when they succeed. When God first placed her on this earth he blew his most precious respite into her tiny lungs. He settled into her a voice to please his ear, and she sings to his glory in his sacred house.

            Her mother called her Carmen, and Heaven’s angels made note, and have reserved her a choir position. Daily she tolls without disorder to provide for her family’s hearth, even when grim and wounded she conquers the nisus in her itinerary and consummates needed tasks. My love for her is so unfettered that God himself is in awe of its splendor. She is the only soul who can ever shield me from my dingy daemons. I dread not death for her pale foot doth warm my future grave.

-Johnny V.

Wounds Heal

        Her foul pettiness grows stale upon her once tranquil flesh, now dark, spotted, and rot with malice. She desires only the wretch in those who offer her even a mild slight. Her time better spent giving tutelage to loved ones instead is used to plot libels and ruination on her perceived adversaries. Hatred and revenge are her dearest honors. Those left in her wake understand the flavour of ire’s stiletto deep in their dorsum.

But remember all wounds heal in meter, so displace, and seek the joy in holding dear ones nigh to heart. Progress through transgressions and thrive in the delights that God has bestowed. Do not wallow in self-pity and dislike, for it soon will mar your loneliness with unmanageable stench. Hold fast to the felicitousness in your life and ne’er allow wrath to cloud your soul.

-Johnny V.

The Next Four Years

This newly formed violent storm hovers just above my warm abode, I inhale the malordour of racism that now seeks to derive its angry scheme. In a moment of fear I evaluate a congition where I can veil my person. But God pulls near my audition and in a susurration tells me that I am to be his warrior. "Remove your fright from your breast my son." Hello tells his noble creation. "For you must halt this hellion who wishes to shame my glory."

I emerge from my darkened hollow with a new fangled mightiness, proud to wear my wakeless armour. I make an outcry to my brown protagonists. Recognizing that under one approximation we are unbreakable. The battle will be longsighted and ofttimes disobedient, but must nonetheless be fought. This novel and herculean army with standstill against the Fetor of hatred that has taken root in the land of our mothers.

Our exquisite earth has seen this detest foul our bright air many times. Each time unspoiled passion has been triumphant and restored God's resplendent wishes. Come out of the duskiness my comrades, and prepare for a nimbus task. Let no disgrace go unrevealed. Let's take a full breath before the brave plunge. Bring all the hatred into the unclouded strength of mankind which is implanted with God's joyous breath.

Her Deamons

            Her arresting beauty doth mask her powerful botheration. Sorrow follows and chills her soft feet. She has a radiance that grows beyond even the sun’s glare. All in her favor are made joyous. But few know the demons she enshrouds beneath her rejoiceful view. Her smile brings all in her orbit to splendor’s ease. None are privy to the uncheerfulness that sleeps inside her untoughened breast. So often she places the innocuous of her loved ones in a higher place than her own.

            Thru grace and patronage, she will blackball the fearful daemons that hide in the brown behind her eyelids. Those who fend her fomenters will forever be her fellowship. They will refuse to bunk when she is in dire penury. Gladly they postpone their courtship till she is better primed to emerge once again. And all will bask in the fragrance of each other’s hearts.

-Johnny V.

Lying to Priests

Sorry shall ne'er cross her evil forked tongue. No exploit will she own, for she continues to drink from the glass of forgetfulness. Her unfortunates are doomed daily to hang upon her tainted lover's cross. When they slight her they are tossed aside like fish bones and egg shells.

She will attend a house of worship only to spend her time lying to priests. Her honey falsehoods crawl into their ears like violent whispers. With pruning hooks she castrated my mettle leaving it a useless and battled vessel. Yet she will grow stale and become regret's Mistress alone in her bile.  Her past delights clinging to her like maggots to a corpse.

-Johnny V.

Hunger

She weeps as her empty-bellied baby wails in pain. She knows that her clear purse will never assuage. She makes modest gestures to ease his needs. But they are for naught, food will not this night rest upon her table.

Yet the affluent man in power threatens to take more from her, while calling her and her kinsfolk vile names. But he has himself never been cold nor awant for even a small bite. He cannot look to her for his dishonor is gravid.

His followers turn their faces from those in aguish for they blame the unfortunate, that is until they themselves are the victim.

-Johnny V.

William's Journey

            His courage is the envy even of those who reside on Mount Olympus. His heart mightier than any temple in Jerusalem. His struggle began early in his spiritedness oft-times the fall hurt more than the ascent. Forced was he to hide under dead trees that gave little shelter.

            This, he shouted to the heavens would never define him. He would rise above the corpse planted in the garden of vexation, and turn his back on the misshaped cobble stones. Keeping his moody eyes on the undimmed horizon, and earning his baron from his tumbles. The world gave him thorns but he clutched tightly to the red rose.

            Maturity became his touch-tone while he blossomed into man far beyond all regard. His talent with the pen drew assemblage to his side. The narrative of hear surpassed all uncertainty and left his doubters in a drunken stupor. They, left in his wake hoping for just the reflection of his deep candescent. His compassion and his desire to please those dear to him is known beyond his boarders. All, are made more lustrous in his warmth and joyfulness.

-Johnny V.