Best Inexplicably Poems
Faraway, across a widening
Expanse of vacant fields,
Dawns slated light is gradually
Awaking;
And too soon new Morn's stilled
Indifference
Determinedly steals
Into the abstractions of my fitful
Dreams,
Where, deeply concealed,
Many forgotten memories from days
Since past -
Ne'er once unto me unworthy...
Although long be they in their
Forsaking.
Those languid days, that, lately,
I quite often see and hear
Crowding throughout my wandering
Slumbers;
Vivid recollections, interns of a
Jumbled mind - for ages absent,
Beginning now to inexplicably reappear;
Insistent murmurings troubling -
Troubling incessantly:-
Unwelcomed guests from
Yesteryear...
Strange impositions, of a sorts,
Burdening upon this weary soul,
Which, encamped within my
Dampened Spirits -
Doth so unwittingly encumber!
Antares' red glow bears firmly down
upon plush, chartreuse carpet
lying prone against the obsidian expanse,
blanketing sections of a remote
blue sphere, purling,
spinning helplessly
through distant time and space;
slave to routine and rotation,
never daring to break free;
to reach out.
Scorpius sprawls low
across the Autumn void;
a celestial corpse
twinkling, twitching;
inexplicably still breathing,
expelling the last
of her precious plexine light
in a final, desperate act
to awake inspiration, stir passion,
proffer wholeness and healing
to an infirmed, ungrateful planet,
for her end-of-reign recession.
Projecting dreams; visions
like swirling Akashic holograms
leaping forth from ancient pages
of ethereal records,
all but lost to time and apathy.
Twisting snakelike through the cosmos,
her broody gaze steeling
in every direction;
fierce energy bombarding;
burning across the universe.
Intense joules bursting forth;
reaching out to nurture
willing universal souls;
scorching those who reject her,
turning them to table fodder
at a divine banquet
for dark gods.
Sagittarius flickers jovially behind
as if breathless with laughter;
taunting, frustrating,
staying just out of reach
of her vengeful tail.
The rule of Scorpio wanes
upon Orion's horizontal breach
extinguishing the sting-ed cluster;
quelling her tumultuous surge
until late-spring pains
rebirth her fires,
igniting them, emerging again
from the icy chasm
of black oblivion.
I was here once
But now I'm one of the forgotten ones
I faded away slowly
Imperceptibly
Like the once vibrant blue of blue jeans
The edges frayed
as I walked along the road of fleeting popularity
I felt my fabric thinning
until I became comfortable
It made me kinda cool in a way
for I was worn almost every day
it felt better than okay
Paired with shirts and sweaters
until a time later other clothes seemed better
My holes became too noticeable
instead of somewhat perceptible
The day came
when I was sorta just a bit out of style
So you washed and folded me
carefully put on me on a shelf
After all I was a favourite
no one wants to throw a favourite away
Right there in the closet I stayed
Next to all the pretty new things
waiting
until the day
You might wear me again
But somehow
like sometimes
things just are what they are
faded old blue jeans
inexplicably disappear
If you ever do find them
You smile and remember
how they made you feel
But sadly
when you try them on
they don't fit anymore...
What’s left behind is the fragrance of the lilac
Crushed between forlorn fingers
Petals held in contorted hands
Once lust rendered dust the terrain shall cover
Fierceness is abandoned forgiveness is given
To whom does this come, whom shall it deem
As father time allots and consumes
Pro tem I am, pro tem I am
an irrepressibly creative force
Manifesting myself
by channeling a myriad of diverse
and inexplicably bold personas
struggling to leave resonance in my wake
to whom does this come
this legacy that lives on~
is what I shall be
No Toilet Paper
My mind is boggled.
What is with the Coronavirus mania?
Why is everyone going freaking nuts over this?
From what this writer understands,
It is much like the regular flu,
Which is killing thousands as we speak, and
Hospitalizing even more. And this has been going on,
As long as I have been alive since 1952.
But this particular microbe is novel, and
Since little is known about it apparently,
People are afraid they will “get it.”
So off to Costco they all go, and
Buy as much toilet paper they are all permitted to buy,
Take it home, store or hide it with the other family treasures,
And then realize, inexplicably, that now
They are all magically immune to “getting it.”
Is that what these crazed souls are thinking?
I can think of a fate worse than “getting it.”
Worse than sports games being cancelled;
Worse than concerts and plays going on indefinite hiatus;
Worse than school classes and Sunday services finding the exit door, for now;
Worse than millions of vacations being cancelled, and
Entire industries being brought to their knees;
Worse than the world economy taking a complete nosedive
Into depression and financial paralysis;
Worse than millions of human beings dying
Horrible, agonizing deaths due to this little microbe.
No, I can think of something even worse.
Imagine going to Steak Corral - All You Can Eat,
One night soon, and you wanted your money’s worth.
So you load up your plate with:
Whiskey-laced, barbecued baked beans and garlic bread;
Two breadcrumb-laced quarter pound char-burgers,
Each smothered in a half dozen beer-breaded onion rings,
With ranch dressing dripping over them like lava.
Then you go get some more beans on french fries with
Big raw garlic chunks nestled in them, and then,
You wash it all down with three beers.
Imagine the next morning.
Imagine the horror, the horror,
Of voiding all that Steak Corral stuff, and then
Having the absolute worst possible thing
Happen to you in today’s crisis times.
No toilet paper.
FADED
I was visible once
but now one of the forgotten ones.
I faded away slowly
imperceptibly,
like the once vibrant colour of blue jeans.
My edges frayed
as I walked along the road of fleeting popularity.
I felt my fabric thinning
until I became comfortable.
It made me kinda cool in a way.
I was paired with shirts and sweaters
until a time later other clothes seemed better.
My holes became too noticeable,
instead of somewhat perceptible.
The day came
when I was just a bit out of style.
So you washed and folded me
carefully put me on a shelf.
After all, I was a favourite.
No one wants to throw a favourite away.
Right there in the closet I stayed,
next to all the pretty new things.
I waited
craving the day
you might wear me again.
But somehow,
things just are what they are.
Faded old blue jeans
inexplicably disappear.
If you ever do find them
you smile and remember
how they made you feel.
Sadly though,
when you try them on,
they just don't fit anymore.
When young men meet with
inexplicably sudden and biting ends,
not the whitewashed passing of those long in the tooth,
the silver-maned for whom all mourning may expire at death;
that burrowed-under-the-skin ache
where labored breath takes speechless flight
and bids farewell to carefree thought -
that a God of love
carries my heavy heart
seems inadequate in its wake.
Wherever comes this strange, black chill
an overwhelming desire at the brink
inexplicably drawn and curious to sink
into the abyss of an unknown cavern?
Weighty and darker than the deepest sea
from blackest ink of a moonless night
its mystery surrounds, as I take flight
under solemn layers of silent secrets.
Vision now vanishes, only touch to replace
for there are no images to embrace
nor sights to trace in this wretched place
a devilish black hole with an evil face.
Black upon black looms ever on
hemmed within slick and craggy walls
black bats shriek, the midnight hour calls
as I stumble into the black void of a forever fall.
when the plug is pulled
some of us will drain
others remain tethered
left contorting in pain
I wonder in earnest
how else we adhere
there are clues in the dirt
and the dead stares of the deer
white space in the sky
promised us room
but all spaces are full
so we wait in our tombs
the dogs persist milking
their devilish deeds
whilst salvation diminishes
due to miniaturised steeds
there are cages and castles
a whole skyscaped procession
but I'm too deeply entrenched
for detour or digression
out on the lawn
(in the absence of storms)
the answers are spelled out
in finely topiarised forms
with brushing and patience
I untangle and re-knot my tresses
to wear in plain sight
my shielding headdresses
I do cast a shadow
not all of us do
though the odds are against me
and my chances are few
transmutation circled
yet I still toe the line
persisting inexplicably
in search of my kind
I cannot be hurried
though birds fall and are sinking
please do not disturb me
I'm thinking, I'm thinking
I idle alone
draped in assorted skins
I'd lay bear traps for thoughts
rather than welcome them in
I trust in the safety
of being part of the herd
a friesian pelt promises
reality is deferred
mapped from this spot
is a three-step transition
stand, fall then rot
I won't break with tradition
there must be logic
to aciniform wrapping
I'd figure it out
but I'm too peaceful napping
Just a poetic (souper) side note courtesy chief
wordsmith brother unaware ye experienced grief
diagnosed as walking pneumonia please bull lief
yours me, he doth care and breathes sigh of relief.
Gratis the miracle of modern medicine wife
of Richard McGeehan, he offered succor
during serious bout when ye suffered strife
lovingly tendering lifelong counterpart
spelling finis regarding any galavanting nightlife
nurturing mother of their grown son (Brendan),
who immersed her whole self as housewife.
How aware ill luck of the draw
found thee inexplicably stricken
with serious malady against the law
nearly necessitating travois
(maneuvered by Kit Carson)
to transport thee to medical center.
The above stanza unbeknownst to you
analogous to current reading material
myopic eyes of mine view
historical fiction titled
"A Most Desperate Situation"
authored by Walter Cooper,
I just might maintain as keepsake
among various and sundry other books
lined up like soldiers upon shelved queue.
Courtesy perusing selective material
not so much to become boastful
self pedagogical ace,
but merely to expand knowledge base,
whereby latest erudition
preoccupies mindscape with displace
called realm of imagination
allowing, enabling, and providing me
to travel into hyperspace
only welcoming family members
like thee dear sister into myspace
a beloved sibling
thirteen plus months older
glad ye got begat December 1st, 1959
whereby ye got fifty two plus weeks headstart
to join (chance throw of genetic dice)
entrance into human race.
Though Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan born
more than three score and three years ago
if series of unfortunate events would befall thee,
this sole brother would certainly mourn
and with futility emasculate and scorn
himself until... his own plaque
designating his buried cremains
in lieu of tombstone worn.
What if our minds were like spider webs,
Spreading to the invisible realm?
Beyond the brain seems blissfully insane
Like a transcendental spell.
While science is keen to explain our dreams
And thoughts in pure chemical terms,
I’ve often considered education is littered
With professors who’ve never quite learned.
Sometimes science needs a leap of faith
To move past dogmatic ground –
There’s more than enough evidence
Proving the existence of the Inexplicably Profound.
It’s the nature of the universe
From the immeasurable small to unfathomable wide
Connecting every sub-particle
From stardust to what’s inside.
Your head and mine were made sublime
By a miracle beyond comprehension -
While I have no doubt these thoughts I hold
Exist in many dimensions.
Michelangelo seemed to think so
As did Mozart, Beethoven and Jung –
But not even the tip of the iceberg
Of those who climbed the rungs.
Of the ladder towards the gateway
That leads to higher realms
Where thoughts pour forth like running gold
From a river all around.
As atheists deny, agnostics decry
And others follow suit -
While I take a stand and raise my hand
To the universe in salute.
Of every thought I’ve ever had
And memories bad and sweet -
Knowing someday I’ll prove the teachers wrong
And laugh myself to sleep.
While watching fish that school and twist
Tens of thousands by the count –
Simultaneous turns together
In one instant - turnabout.
Or birds of a feather sailing together
In a sudden course correction -
Instantly banking to and fro
In singular - unified perfection.
And mothers sensing peril
Of their young ones out of sight -
Phone calls made confirming
The feeling was quite right.
Something strange is in the air
Here and there and all around –
Permeating space and time
Through our minds and solid ground.
These thoughts I swear must come from nowhere
Inside this human head –
And I still believe and always will
Thought begins in a spider-web.
The breaking seemed to happen so easily.
Childish giggles and a pretty new dress,
There were the seemingly innocent tickling games!
Then came "This will be our little secret" accompanied by zipper sounds
Licking lollipops, "Special" alone times...
his need pulling at her panties, that strange wetness.
She felt her mind splintering
The inner her went to distant places, attempting to save small bits of herself:
Why couldn't she separate the pleasure from the guilt?
That ironic cruelty of her body responding to his touch.
The wanting to be loved, mixed with that icky feeling!
She had thought him to be her light.
Loving him for paying attention to her.
He made her smile by listening to every word she said.
Then he made her his slave, his object of desire.
Told her "no one else will love you!" "You are a dirty dirty girl!"
Inexplicably as she got older his attention waned
making her wonder what was wrong with her
until one day he bought her little sister a pretty pink dress
She recognized that innocent giggle, that favourite uncle smile
Somehow she gathered up her shattered and screamed her sister free
for she knew, no little girl should ever again be a slave to his darkness
Within her broken she found their path to freedom
Because she knew that breaking happens oh so easily.
Her sister didn’t understand
Still for her that was better than okay,
her baby sister was safe
When she looks at her she wishes
“If only I had a big sister,
I too could have been spared!”
July 26th 2017
Controversial
Dead
Alive
Missing
Back again
Gone
Outspoken
Talented
Did I mention dead
Resurrected
Defiant
Ashamed
Humble
Proud
Searching
Angry
Beautiful
Thought provoking
Manic
Depressed
Hurt
Human
Unreliable friend
Still a friend
I can't help but like the guy
He does have a tender side
Yes he pushes too far
Brilliant and flawed mind
Honest
Not particularly kind
Tortured
Tell it like it is
Even when it isn't
But he believes it is
Still I am attracted to his passion
Sadly all his poems are gone
Maybe they'll be back again
I guess what I'm saying
Is that I miss
My friend
Freddie!
Freddie Vassalo is no stranger to controversy. He has stirred the soup many times.
Never boring sometimes mean, other times kind always creative. I do not see eye
to eye with him on many subjects yet I am inexplicably drawn to his personality.
Yes I do miss my friend Freddie, I expect him back any day now.
Wordless worries wander wearily working wayward,
Towards thoughts transgressing truth’s textured tide.
As always acknowledging agnosticism’s appeal,
Essence easily evaporates, exeunt Emile.
Very virtuous violent vowels vociferously validate,
Sanctimonious sessions some subtly sacrosanct.
Is it in incrementally immense ingenious imaginations,
Or ontology’s omniscience overcoming oceanic oratory?
Roughly rallying rage’s recessive righteousness,
Quickly quartered queens quietly quiver qualities quoi.
Under unctuous undeniably Umbrian utterances,
An astute and acute awareness as always arose.
Placing plausibly proverbial prevaricating predications,
Many morose morally myopic manly mighty men,
Eulogize everlasting ephemerally entertaining evocations.
Insinuating incredible implications, insomnia initiates,
Notably nullifying notoriously negligible nihilistic necessities.
Lies lay low, linking lofty linguistic lessons like laws,
Of optional opportunities oscillating on occult overtures
Until underlying unctions unify ubiquitous unknowns.
Joyless Joseph’s joyful Joy just jumped, just jumped!
Killing killjoy knuckle kosher korma koranic krap.
And announce another anonymous anodyne appointment?
(Empiricism’s emphatic emission, enter erotic Eloise).
Having Heidegger helps, hope’s homunculi hunting human.
Get gone ginger guesses, go grope Ginger’s grapes!
Immaculately ironic inquisitions instigate immediate impositions.
Once onto opaque ominous orbs, obey Oracles open orders.
Framing funny fractions, flaming far flung frivolous fictions,
Death defies dollar damnations, deliciously done devaluations.
Usually uncle umpire understands useful underlying ululations,
Also affirming apples avuncular altruistic assumptions.
Creeds crave caves, charms calm cause, come conquerors,
Be belligerently bad, betray birth’s beginning, balance budgets.
Entreating entirely empty, emphatically elusive, existential entelechy,
Is, importantly, incommensurably idiotic, inexplicably impractical indeed.
Africa has no address
this is a place at war.
Here are poor houses
and poor people.
The people live here like cockroaches,
they've been here a long time.
People no longer people,
people deprived of hearts, minds,
people without function
for which an address doesn't exist
worse: in whose name political conspirators
are engaged in the looting of the national
treasury
The young leave quickly
unwilling to know the wisdom
of their estranged parents.
Even the barking dogs
would rather wrestle
than eat--
while the roaming chickens
play hide-and-seek with
the smallest children.
The old colonial farms have gone back to forest
the new resettled farmer knows only the sun
knows nothing of food or of farming
The new doctor has borrowed the witchdoctor's face
leaving his usual surgery to wander
some dilapidated, half imagined hospital
where experiments are performed on people
I came to deliver a letter
I came to save the damned,
the scum of your society.
And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
this here's a world of losers and sinners
and all I see is the darkness of your soul.
I thought hard for us all--my only letter--
then threw it away into the darkness,
and was overtaken inexplicably by sorrow.
I had tasted the face of Africa.
Africa has no address.