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Randall Conklin Poem
It was birds Yes Ducks !, Mallards no less
Flown down from Alberta that made this great mess !
I tried to stop them though I shivered in fear
They flew right on past me and landed right here.
They surrounded your cupcakes like an army brigade
and attacked them they did not a one could be saved !
Frosting was flying from the mauls of their beaks
cupcake crumbs scattered all around their webbed feet !
And when they were done and finally flew out
the leader duck threw the last cupcake in my mouth !
I tried not to eat it but it was stuck to my lips
I guess they were just hungry after their long trip ?
Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2016
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Randall Conklin Poem
(5 Words to Dwell Upon)
Though once I was homeless,
Twas my diagnosis,
That I might once again rise form the ashes like the phoenix.
Though did I rise again,
Twas more like a butterfly,
Lifting itself from a dandelion after a long respite.
~RC
(Diagnosis, Homeless, Phoenix, Butterfly, Respite)
Dear Dr Diagnosis
Homeless on Mulberry Street
No Respite for Plato
I THE PHOENIX
Oh dear my, Butterfly
Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2016
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Randall Conklin Poem
Poetry ain't words dribbled out on the fly,
It's execution, prostitution of the me who am I.
lettin loose my mongoose of thought provoking, while others be chokin,
gettin all Seuss you just some cat in a hat,
Philosophies of Socrates rap your brain around dat,
Don't let dem big words confuse you, this all precludes you, from being 100, thats where you blundered.
word :)
Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2017
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Randall Conklin Poem
I The Phoenix
I recall in my youth how the world around me seemed so alive vibrant in color and beauty. As I aged this beauty faded and was replaced with a new world filled with shades of grey. Life rushed by me quickly, I was no longer able to see the beauty around me. The longer I lived in this new world the more my spirit faded.
One day this new world came crashing down around me and I was left alone, abandoned in the streets. Overcome with fear and loathing I wandered aimlessly among the dispirited and walking dead. I survived on the pity and sustenance portioned out to the lost souls.
I found myself pondering my youth as I walked the streets and wondered where that world had gone. My eyes saw things along the sidewalk that inspired my imagination, I kept these as mementos of life lost. These tidbits of refuse I examined and again found vibrant color and beauty. I began to piece these small tokens together and slowly recreated my youthful vision.
Casting aside my thoughts of returning to the life that had drained away my spirit. I became whole again, I now dwell again in those vibrant colors and an abundance of happiness as were in my youth. Society will not number me among it's herded numbers of spiritless victims.
Authors Note:
3 years of homelessness and destitution opened my eyes and reignited my spirit. If you feel you have lost your way, cast off everything and start anew.
Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2015
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Randall Conklin Poem
The shadow of death though it looms before me I do not fear.
Life has befallen me since the day of my birth, life has prepared me for death.
My courage comes not from victories, but from understanding.
What I have become is lived, having been alive and felt life.
This is life's natural course, unalterable and steadfast in it's direction.
No force of nature or man can change that I did exist.
I have existed in this time and will forever be in this here and now.
I Am......
RC
Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2015
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Randall Conklin Poem
The Teacher boomed "Girls Curtsy" now "Boys Bow".
"Learn your Etiquette, Ladies first Gentlemen".
"We do not run we are not a herd of cattle, Now single file !"
"You Mr Smith will hold the door !, Thank you sir"
We filed threw the door unlike cattle as best we could.
Young Mr Smith falling promptly into the end of the line.
The girls giggled at us boys, as it seemed we were most in need of discipline.
And now to add to our disgrace we must, I must, keep from becoming violently ill.
For today we will learn to dance with Girls !
Behold the Gymnasium, the fetid hall of Torture, First Dodge-ball and now this Humiliation. Under the glaring lights of the Gymnasium devilish eyes gleamed across the way as they separated boys from girls.Damn their souls !, Begone ye pony-tailed and frilly spawns of Satan !
If only a deathly rain of frogs would find this an opportune moment to appear.
With their Ghastly shrills they would scatter to the winds like dandelion seeds !
But protected they were, the roof held steady and appeared it would for quite sometime.
They then paired us off, boy-girl, boy-girl, no chance to protest it was done.
I stood there holding her hand, staring at the back of her curly red hair.
She turned and smiled then shrugged, looking away so I would not turn to stone.
The Teacher sneered with fiendish delight and clapped her hands "Now Begin !"
Music filled the air and the frilly beast grabbed my other hand and pulled me towards her."Step-Step-Step-Left-Step-Step and Right, Boys pay attention !"
Slightly above the music I could hear groans from my fellow tortured souls.
We drug our feet desperately hoping for a Fire drill, The A-bomb, anything to end this nightmare ! The clock ticked slowly away and finally it came to an end, Death did not come we lived on.
The Redheaded Demoness turned to me "You did good" she said, and walked away to rejoin the giggling herd. Several days later a note appeared tapping on my shoulder, from the (Redheaded Demoness) "I like you do you like me Y/N" it read. It was over for me, my journey through the light had come to an end and into the darkness I fell as I pressed down with my #2 Pencil and circled (Y).
Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2016
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Randall Conklin Poem
For 10,000 years I've pondered the meaning of life or so it seems.
Muttering to myself and listening to other human beings.
It wasn't found within any ancient book, painting or written on a cave wall.
Certainly not in the words of the religious fanatics attacking my humanity.
Not through birth or death has this meaning revealed itself.
Zen brought only peace to me that an answer may not ever be found.
My thoughts raced from beginning to end of time, across the universe I searched.
Then one Autumn evening as I lay near sleep a thought fluttered by.
Almost lost in the steady stream of imagery flashing within my mind.
I quickly dove in swimming through the swirling metaphorical eddy's of thought.
I saw it just ahead and grasped hold and saw in an instant the truth.
I didn't whither and die as I suspected I might if I found my answer.
Rather a peaceful feeling engulfed my all of being and laid me down gentle to rest.
I awoke in the morning with this revelation that had come to me.
I opened the box that contained the answer to make certain, It was empty.
I turned the box inside out, closed and opened it, only to find the same emptiness.
How could I have been such a fool to not write down what I had learned.
It had been in my hand real as these words I write, only to be lost again.
10,000 years of searching lost in slumber to dreams.
As I sat in my somber mood, The answer had been found I posed.
Indeed the answer had came and gone but,There was an answer !
There was meaning to life and purpose, perhaps it wasn't meant to be remembered.
Perhaps the answer was, "To Not Know" ?
RC.
Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2015
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Randall Conklin Poem
As I walked down Mulberry Street, my pack and the shoes on my feet.
I see a nickel, penny a dime an empty bottle of wine.
Fletcher the old drunk, smelling a bit of a skunk still I smile and wave.
Punks have placed Graffiti on a wall, claiming ownership of this urban sprawl.
I stop for a bit and have a quaint sit on the remnants of a flower box.
I light my last smoke, watch some odd folk, they walk to the beat of their drum.
Exhaling the sweet mist of nicotine addiction, happy this is my only vice.
A dandelion grows through a crack screaming for me to take poetic note.
A Mercedes parked in front of the attorneys office, ill gotten gains.
Trash blown into the inner recess of the arched doorway in which I sit.
A drug store receipt a note perhaps a declaration of love or don't forget the milk.
The cast iron manhole cover states proudly, Made in Chicago.
Ahead lies the Mulberry Street Mission a line already forms.
Where dinner and biblical mumbo jumbo are being served.
The old woman greets everyone with a smile and tells them Jesus loves you.
I'll wait until she goes inside I don't want to argue.
The wind blows and sunshine falls on my face.
I notice out of the corner of my eye a normal folk (Non-Homeless).
Taking their own cigarette break enjoying the same sweet addiction as myself.
Our eyes meet in acknowledgement of we are the same, for the moment.
The Mulberry Street bus rambles by spewing noxious fumes.
The city's wind artwork slowly turns hoping someone will take notice.
My last long draw on my cigarette, I grab my pack and pull myself up.
then One foot Two foot I resume my journey to the Mulberry Street Mission.
(In Memory of Fletcher Campbell 1940-2015)
Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2015
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Randall Conklin Poem
Gazing across the Trailer Park morning dew glistens on overgrown lawns, as the sun rises, empties strewn randomly in the grass sparkle like jewels in this dawn of day. Saturday night has past, Hank Sr has fallen silent, distant echoes of Stand by your Man and the wailing of police sirens, shouting and gun fire ebb from my mind. The prayers of the neighbors wife heard through the walls at 3am "oh god-oh god-oh god" have apparently been answered, silence stills this morning.
Hot coffee flows and warms my tired bones as the roaches scurry across the kitchen floor seeking refuge from the invasive light into the dark recesses of a cockroach underworld. A constant flurry of church vans pass by my window, come to gather those that have repentance for their sins of the previous Saturday night. A house-coated neighbor groans as she reaches for her morning paper, the folds of her belly fat strain the vertebrae that have given her the gift to walk upright to the kitchen for yet another jelly roll.
Some would see this community as a melting pot of emotional turmoil but what lies within this spiced stew is nothing less then life at it's purest form. Instinct, or whats left of man after crawling from that slime pool of life. There is no pretense of society or false empathy, nothing less then want and need. The establishment of being ruler of a 30X80 tract of land, King of all that their drug and alcohol induced visions might encompass.
I watch from the window of my kingdom, It is the dawning of a new day and life begins again.
RC
Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2015
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Randall Conklin Poem
Dear Dr Diagnosis,
Thank you for your concern and attempt to put me back together.
It isn't that I am unappreciative of your labors in fact I've rather enjoyed our talks,though sometimes they were quite painful.I concluded it was necessary to show you the depth of my pain, so that you might prescribe the proper mind fogging medications.I must say that your advice of "setting aside days to worry" and to just tell myself "it is what it is" were thought provoking.It took several weeks of contemplation to wrap my mind around the concepts and even longer to put them into practice.Although they have yet to bare fruitful as useful coping tools, I do hope that someday they will.
I also hope you are not to disappointed in not being able to fix me, it isn't your fault.You see I already know what has caused me to become broken, I have always known.The days the places the times are all etched very clearly in my mind along with the emotional turmoil associated with them.Without the additional help of a Time Machine to go back and steer myself away from the event's, they cannot be undone.So you must tell yourself "It is what it is" and perhaps schedule next Tuesday as your day to "worry about it".
I will give you just a bit of advice from personal experience and return the favor;
Abstaining from self medication with drugs and alcohol will greatly reduce future events to feel remorseful for. Keeping yourself busy and maybe becoming a bit OCD-ish will help you not to think of your painful memories. Embracing life and finding beauty where most fail to see it will increase your chances for happiness. And most of all forgive yourself for allowing others to give you these painful memories. It is part of having Empathy, Trust and being a Good Human.
Sincerely
Your Textbook Labeled and Diagnosed Patient
Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2015
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