Irony, Karma, and Fate In Central Park (Chapter 2)A Poem by J.V. Stanley 'Irony Karma and Fate Walk Into A Bar' is my forthcoming collection of poetry with 30+ chapters. This is an ongoing project that has an anticipated publication date of summer/fall 2014
Here once again, our dearest sly friends, who last time ventured into a bar And taught the dear letch, of what mercy is spent, when love is eschewed to war
So these lovely sisters, who tormented the tryster, who broke the heart of many a girl Decided to lean in, and to make interference therein, in order for right to unfurl
These lessons be known, as this due tale unfolds, of the three who follow into the night Their tactics are artless, and their methods are heartless, in order for them to requite…
On a park bench do they sit, and comment on the half-wits, of those who internally hide Their faults and deceit, of that which they do keep discreet, from the path of those along the wayside.
A man in a suit, with business sense acute, walked as if life always got in the way “Behold, this man here,” Irony whispered as he drew near, “the oubliette in this man’s soiled dossier.”
With a snap of her fingers, and the softest of whispers, appeared papers disclosing lurid history. Make no mistake, this man’s future screams ‘jailbait’, to his superiors his actions remain mystery.
The man acts rather genial, as he misplaces a decimal, pouring riches upon him at ease Irony laughs and predicts, ventures on with her shtick, her hand reaching beyond the boundaries
The sisters are there, so you’d better beware, much like this man who thought to embezzle As entitled as he believed, his employer also did thieve, the man just as black as the kettle.
The autumn leaves swirled ‘round, upon the dusty foreground, the air with its hint of decay The man with the suit, opted for an alternate route, leading right underneath the archway.
In the darkness awaiting, was a stranger who was freighting , much like the ferryman taking his coins He pulled a Smith and Wesson, to teach him a lesson, the suit’s riches successfully purloined.
Karma looked to the crowd, and smiled out loud, with a laugh that rang clear through the street “Well done yet again, you’ve become quite the marksman, but look to she whose obvious conceit
the coveted mannequin, envy of shallow Manhattan- look how she preys ‘pon the corpulent.” The three of them turned, to the woman who could not discern, true beauty from that of cement.
Altered with plastic, the change done quite drastic, she lost herself within Cosmo She hated the feeling, though continued not eating, obsessed with the look of Garbo
She despised even more, and hitherto foreswore, to never rise above one fifteen Cursed those of weight, and those in a voluptuous state, she swore to outsmart her fat gene
“Promiscuous is she, lactating much like a Guernsey , though she fears why she does not menstruate. Her milk has gone sour, vanity has its claws in to devour, the seed of which was left to impregnate.”
Karma continued her lesson, reading true the confession, of the fears plaguing the heart of this woman “She fears she will grow, swears no one should know, listen as its heart hammers like a piston.
For this child she bears, from her torrid affair, will eventually drive off potential bedmates And for this reason alone, the child will be allowed to grow, and will cause her to become what she hates.”
Karma smiled at her sister, as Irony kissed her, ever so soft on the cheek “Without each other, this woman may never be a mother, who beholds her very own mystique”
The woman closes her mouth, and dare not shout out, at the curvaceous women who waddle past For these days are spent, after mercy up and went, her own physique she knows will not last.
passing glances sidelong, shoulder on shoulder upon her excrete, Another future mother, to whom she would smother, her kin a pretentious aesthete
“So to pity a fool, of that who does rule, the future of their own precious lives And still they go on, searching for elusive black swan, though none have quantified their tithe”
and deepened the crated, boxed up Honesty, their spiritual friend From upon them they view, the paths overthrew by clouds of people belly-up to descend.
“Now it’s my turn in the soirée, as Destiny learned my dear protégé, of what oils that lift from water” With a turn of Fate’s finger, boy and man a dead-ringer, two on two in the lamb to the slaughter. we’re here till the end, Truth sits comfortably in the bergère As follows the rhyme, and drinks of the brine, follow close to the heart of Baudelaire
The two turned to Fate, as she always did wait, to go at it last but followed long after the end With her seductive gait, her dominion dare not abate, nor try them against her to contend
She shadowed their rear, her countenance severe, as the man and boy washed through the crowd there’s no time to reload, and one quick crack of his palm was allowed
The boy short and measly, though it never was easy, curtains of matted hair frame his tired face Underneath this shroud, this boy is endowed, by hand did his innocence erase
He follows father along, hateful looks sidelong, impatience in adulthood serpentine Venom coursed his veins, and genetics had not reined, though poverty of nurture too much a climb
“This idiotic plow, who became father somehow, will ruin the chance of this boy that abuse is triad, lackadaisical families will destroy?”
Irony whispered in pain, for she could not attain, a plan to instruct a boy-man to learn But she was quickly hushed , by the unsteady rush, forced then with a focus to adjourn.
“A child he is, much potential-a whiz, with a brighter future than his father no doubt, Despite the abuse, tied round like a noose, this boy will eventually farmout.”
the dear vixen Fate, who rules the whole of a lifetime She whispered in ear, of the boy austere, the secrets that will unravel the begrimed. knew now of the allotted, time spent until he was over the threshold Of death he discovered, once like another, was hidden within a dysfunctional household
Lovely Irony and Karma, distant princesses of Brahma, lack in power of Shiva and Vishnu Sitting idly upon the bench, their position entrenched, their authority within specific purview. what normalcy has foretold, will release the gilded from cage Though through the kindness and power, his blood has thus soured, he too will end up with rage.
as he grows old, that his sickening and twisted façade Will emerge as another, excuses used as a cover, as he encouraged his son to maraud. For lest you see, the apple does not fall far from the tree, unless the chance is given in spite Of all that you’ve known, to sow is to grow, branching off in directions within sight.”
as the truth had unwound, the thread of the future lay in wait despite the elements of macabre, to give lessons to teach those to abate.
Irony, Karma and Fate, those three you cannot escape, when your vicious deeds and thoughts interfere With the noble deeds that they do, improper behavior subdued, lessons, wisdoms, truths are revered.
is without a jackknife, wounding selves deeply in hand But Father Time has foresworn, for those who are forlorn, with puissance they too shall withstand. © 2014 J.V. StanleyAuthor's Note
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6 Reviews  Last Updated on March 2, 2014 Tags: Irony, Karma, Fate, lyrical, poetry, philosophy, love, glamour, relationships, parents, motherhood, fatherhood, children, mythology Author
J.V. StanleyThe Upper Peninsula of Michigan, MIAboutJ. V. Stanley is the author of two books (both available on amazon). She is also the CEO and Founder of Writerz Block editing service where she has worked with authors such as Kandice C. Mason, John .. more..Writing
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