SAM SON AND THE LIAR

it was Sam son
and not his daughter
whose hirsute head
wielded the power

until this Eve
her wily daughter
with kissing lips
the sweet deceiver

the Philistine
seductress little liar
with bee-stung lips
and honey tongue
the feline lion tamer

crept to the bed
of the snoring warrior
a pair of shears
and lethal secret with her

with hissing head
this daughter of Medusa
sapped Sam son strength
scissoring like a barber

Eve or Adam
Samson or Delilah
in head or bed
body or mind
which one is the weaker

man or woman
which one is the stronger
the one came first
or the one who followed after

one thing is sure
none can do without the other

Copyright ©2009 by G. Newton V. Chance

UNDER THE SKIN

under the skin the true voluptuousness
is disguised in the shadow of the flesh
and vanity the true voluptuousness
and beauty lies hidden and unseen by
lustful eye the soul personality
and character the beauty of virtue
that best blind vision may see for only
spiritual eyes can discern the true you
which wise men learn to perceive and pursue
to treasure its value more than precious
stones to delve beneath the surface and search
for self separated from suffering
pebbles washed clean in waters of living
rivers of love the one and only church

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

TROJAN

I wrote
red code
and rode
a white horse
along a black back-road
to hack her blue fortressed heart

Helen alone
knew

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

THOSE WHO SNATCH

those who snatch
at the cash
or the cache
are but catching
at the shadow
of the substance

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

DEMOCRACY

(of the people, by the people, for the people)

if this grass manure
about the masses
being the government
in a democracy
is pure
how come governors
always have plenty
and the grassroots
are always poor

Copyright ©2002 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE POOR

the poor
the poor
they know not their power
for if
the poor
would withhold their labour
how long
how long
could the wealthy endure

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE SPOT THAT FELT YOUR WARMTH

the spot that felt your warmth has now grown cold
long cold nights of longing and desire
seem longer as once more I long to hold
you in arms that burn to feel your fire
I toss and turn sleeping feelings unfold
a blanket of cloth that cannot cover
the spot that felt your warmth or my body
with love’s abundance gone there’s naught but want
which rich ransom would pay alas it’s free
though some would trade their kingdoms if need be
the night has needs but like my bed is gaunt
wet-eyed regret has found a heart to haunt
as wide awake I dream of you beside me
while the spot that felt your warmth remains to taunt

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

ANOTHER LOVE SONG

who wants another love song sad or glad
to hear of yearnings full and unfulfilled
but life itself’s a ballad it’s been said
and lovers members of the gilded guild
yet love too much or little has made mad
and ruined both the mighty and weak-willed
I ask is love a curse or gift divine
how oft I love you be truly spoken
love you too a talisman or token
to shield the rash with an emblazoned sign
but who would heed if love be truly blind
thus pathetic pen once again has written
a song for souls whose hapless hearts were broken
and forsaken as many times as mine

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

GRUDGE NOT YOUTH

grudge not Youth
her brief bridal buds
and blooms of spring
nor the groom’s first flush
and bridal blush of bliss
nor youthful beds
of consecrated ring
as blissful as a kiss
for none can cling
to the joy they bring
though a thing of love
is everlasting

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

HERMIT

forgotten is the feel of female flesh
except for Hope pregnant with potential
of success she keeps a fire lighting
which drives dark dank and cold out of his cave
and feeds love’s flames of warmth within his breast
another anniversary is come
to celebrate celibate hermit years
he has subdued the lecherous ladies
of ill repute Mademoiselles Desires
and Dark-Fears those two seductive liars
that prey on men’s moments of loneliness
and weakness with worry and temptations
but can carnal man ever conquer self
reach Spirit-Land after corporeal storm

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

BLACK BOX

a back door
a bread-brown bakery van
windowless and converted
by stripes and a sign that says
justice delivered on time opens
and five loaves of human misery
tumble out with unwashed smell
almost as strong as barbecue-burn charcoal-charred flesh
stone face granite grip and stainless handcuffs
more cruel were the fisticuffs received
in the solitude of a cell
this is no escort-service girl escorting
through a narrow entrance
between blue uniforms with empty holsters
to a cramped cage
already contains five young citizens
also detained kept and unkempt at the State’s pleasure
the cuffs unclick and the door of the dock creaks
open before slamming shut the lock once more
so near but yet not able to communicate
sign language whispered to the few filial faces
in a sea of animosity
eager to drown in its eddy of guilt
even before the hearing the trial has begun
court all rise to be seated again
except the guards already standing
after Anubis solemn and foreboding
as a funeral on Sunday morning
enters with the scales of Maat
there are no potatoes or tomatoes
are these scales rigged like
the market vendor’s rusty metric pair
a confused crapaud hops out of
a black box
from a corner of the court
creating for one moment commotion
oohs and aahs
of surprise and superstition
followed by comic relief
at the spectacle of a six-months pregnant
Pumblechook of a policeman giving chase
as he arrests and carries captive the unfortunate
crapaud lock in mouth out
a bailiff barks silence no laughter in court
and the faithful scribe feverishly scribbles
indecipherable hieroglyphics
in a big black book
of records
a big bad-book
of the dead

Copyright ©2002 by G. Newton V. Chance

LABYRINTH

I

So many Minotaurs to confront and conquer.
Anger is a monster, the bane of self-control.
What good is education if the teacher is
a fool, or foul fooler to himself, and others?
What good is religion if the preacher is a
sinner, lecherous liar to himself, and I?
Who is there can fathom the geometry of
a soul, timid or bold? Left to the devices
of enslaving vices, light as a feather, it
floated, unfelt by the body barometer.
Heavy as mercury, or lead, it fell and sunk
and sunk to a lower measure, miserable,
too miserable to be measurable by
precise science, or the body thermometer.
Why vent your crimson spleen at Spinoza in a
world unknown as our own?

II

Surrounded by land mines, the leader told me to
commit suicide for the cause, a wordy cause.
I replied, “After you!”

III

The features change yet the faces remain the same,
the same vacuous eyes, avoiding stares, staring
away, into nowhere.

IV

Amazed, I stand amazed, transfixed in a maze of
perplexities, the labyrinth of recurring dreams.
The Minotaur always appears in my nightmares,
split in two, he is a man and then a bull, a
bull and then a man, never, a mouse, nor a mare,
never appears in daylight.

V

Of the Sabbath, when a hungry God, the God of
the Sabbath, plucked the ears of corn so that sinners
could hear, and quench their spiritual hunger and thirst.

VI

Of the Sabbath, when an angry God, the God of
the Sabbath, plucked the ears of men and ran them from
the temple, overturning their money lending
tables, their dead tenets and laws cast in cold stone,
to give man hope and life.

VII

Solitude! O solitude! Wherein men may hear
their madness or their God,
meet their madness, their Master or their metaphor.
First I loved the silence, then I loved the written
word, then I loved the spoken word for I knew the
power of the word, then I knew the power of
silence— for in silence sings the celestial.

VIII

Labour! O labour! That sweats and serenades sweet
rest. Them that eat of the fruit of their labour are
truly blest. Six days God laboured to create the
world and rested on the seventh. Seven thousand
years are past and man is still working, to destroy
it, ceaseless, without rest.
What shall it profit the world if a man gains it
all and loses his soul?

IX

I believe in the universality of
being

X

The fisherman casting his net is art. It splays
out in the sun’s rays and captures, for one moment,
beauty, a rainbow, in its moist meshes, then death,
death, with gleaming scales, thrashes in its webbed tent and,
gills agape, screams silent, and, gasping for breath, in
an abundance of oxygen, does the final
dance. For the fish the water is full of food and
fuel and life. For the fish and the fool the sand
is cruel. For the fool the sand is cruel and
so too is the water.
For the sand the water is full of food and blood.
For the water the sand is full of fools and life.

XI

Biological clock and needs awake me and
I travel the short distance between bed and bath.
It is exactly 5:a.m. The cock knows and
crows, acknowledging time.

XII

The C.I.D. still undecided whether the
missing young lady eloped or was abducted,
they advised the perturbed parent to hire a
seer who said she was alive and advised to
hire a private dick to find her. Lost in the
labyrinth, like Hickory, Dickory, Dock, among
the fractured factions of the twelve fractions on the
big analog wall-clock, the clock struck one and down
fell young Donkey Kong, Hickory, Dickory, Dock.
(When you understand the meaning of life, to you
I will explain this line.)

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

GREED

desire has no pleasure
but her need
and her need unbridled
can turn to want

and her want unbridled
can lead to greed
but greed is often bred
by the need to flaunt.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

SEASONS CHANGE

(in memory of an angel named Giselle Salandy)

seasons change
and loved ones die
the hands of time
like wings they fly

another year
goes fleeting by
we greet the new
with tear-filled eye

Copyright ©2009 by G. Newton V. Chance