Best Irretrievably Poems
Drowning is excrutiating.
More so in your own blood,
Your illusions.
Slowly, I hum along to the
tune of my own death.
What else could a puppet do
But dance?
Death is a treasure. Peaceful.
Life is torture. Unbearable.
Ashes lie where a bright flame flickered.
Violently extinguished.
Choked by a diet of untruths.
My endurance is puzzling.
Maybe i was ensnared-
Irretrievably bound.
Inevitable isn't it?
To feel the ripping of a heart
And the extermination of young emotions.
The humming ceases-
The end is near.
His pulsing palm is
where my pump rests.
The fiction" I love you,"
sometimes seems so true.
Love is pain.
Pain is not love
Have you ever had an ‘I’ve wasted my whole life’ moment
If you have, or if you can close your eyes and imagine one…
You don’t necessarily have to be 'that old,’ though
you may sob harder at the age of dwindling returns
… The pain is soul-searing: you’ve poured your heart
into a child, a close relative, a relationship, a marriage
and now you’ve been left irretrievably high and dry,
so you have failed… miserably...
There’s no one can ‘coach you’ through waves of despair
stomach-churning nausea, ready to devour you
No ‘pep talk magic’ to revive your spirits, to restore your equilibrium
‘Pep talks’ are for performers; you are not acting, your pain is real
But there is this: It's All Good. For you.
~ Consider the Source.
It’s there
Y’know
Like the aftermath of pop corn
Stuck
Irretrievably
Ensconced
Imbedded
In the grinding mechanism
Dodging the gnash
Of frustration need
Y’know
That pesky poetic seed
Tormenting synaptic calm
Buzzing like a 2AM mosquito
Humming an unheard song
Dancing on the edge of a thought
Whispering in the silence
Of poetic lethargy
Arise, oh muted muse,
Grasp the trembling gauntlet
Lend it purpose
Suit it in poetic armor
Mount your steed
LET THE JOUSTING BEGIN
A shrouded moon hides my nightmares
not really of my own making,
but they persist to cling to me,
the memories a mirage lost like flotsam
bobbing and tossing in mid-sea.
His Pan-like charm lured me like a siren
giving me a peek of sun into my dark caves
His wit would put a smile into a stone idol
and I was sucked headlong into his world
only to find it a well of black
a vacuum quieter than silent
the silence vanishing backwards.
My world is now painted in shades of grey
a whirl of taunting, aching images.
I am rolling a boulder endlessly uphill,
reaching a mental precipice where I dangle
dangerously on a broken bridge.
The past has bestowed on me the gift of loneliness,
happiness irretrievably lost - was it all a gothic blunder?
Before they silence my voice
Under jackboots and bone crushing dogs
I must set fort before dusk
As I am shielded
By his gore
And crafted like Daniel
In the lions den
And Jonah in the whales gut
I must scurry to ventilate
With my traducers
At the gate
Because they engage nocturnally
I shall not look for a black goat
At the witching hour
I discern they loathe me
And my kind
They hiss, gnash their canine
When they hear my strange name
They curse the day
I was sculptured
They question why
My palms, sole are snow
While my soul case nocturnal?
Their revered face, soul case is snow, innocuous
But entrails insidious
As a welders fork
Forty friend's, fiends, foe and counting
Looking for a straw
In hay sack
Sneaking, feigning, meandering;
They huff, puff,
Sniffle, shuffle and snizzle,
Insidiously, frantically, scamper
For a Judas
To bell the cat, dog
How do you bell a cat, dog,
With nine lives?
They mob, sop, smother you
Like ants swam honey
Then,
Forget that like amoeba
Your outer layer
Is a cyst
Which immune your entrails
From vultures insidious fangs
Alas,
Spider's web, bobby traps, mines litter around
But,
A tortoise never gets
Enmeshed in a spider's web,
Big Ben never irretrievably hushed
Or a monkey ambushed
Trailing a snakes shadow
This jaunt is not for the faint-hearted
I have journeyed forty days, nights
In the lions den
In my arsenal is locusts and wild honey
My traducers eyes are crossed;
They are hard at hearing
Their necks are stiff,
They love gold, silver
More than good name
I shall ventilate
What their fore fathers
Did to prophets before me;
Chastising them with whips, scorpion
And because they denied me honor,
I must shake my dust off
Their door posts.
now we come to the taboo part of our presentation
in which the secret of all time will be revealed
to those who wish to understand understanding
characters arranged in uncharacteristic sequence
a nice little codification on toasted bagel
hitched to the static measurement wagon
so many pretty numbers so subdivisable
into both shape and penetrated substance
down where the cognitive revolutions
splash about cageless canaries preening in song
what is it we perceive if not dimension
floating upon a squirming ocean of magnitudes
of enormous potential in zero space
is pretty much it see not so difficult
10,000 years of hocus pocus gurus
couldn't begin to tell you this eye to eye
being knee deep in spirit and guesswork
and various intuitive instruments of torture
while still thinking in 3 color caricatures
mystery on her own is something to bother about
this assessment brought to you by the same 10k
a constant ball park estimate for side arm pitchers
following the contours of the cracks in that great glass
where the buzzword signal meter needles
are perpetually evermore bouncing off the peg
trying to tell a story that hasn't been told before
to your narrator who is all ears all the time
bringing the reign of the ephemeral cortex
to the light of day much to everyone's disgust
irretrievably drawn to the abandonment of ornament
and their many delicate sedimentations
chased by a brace of Tennessee blueticks
baying like a steam whistle spitting sparks
assured of the one validated certainty
the wax was melting off his wings
apparently this is not a trial run
with God whispering in my big bunny ear
you probably want to be like me right
the wavy haired platinum blond at his elbow
adds a lascivious every day has its price
naturally I had to agree and nodded heedfully
knowing a single sliver of the future
the bogs will take them
her hand cold with the death of romance
obligatory touch
we watched it erode like a mountain chipped away by cheap winds
irretrievably sad
but still the flowers roll out, the cards keep coming
the quick peck kisses and morning goodbyes
the syringe shooting shared history into nostalgic veins
as dark radio rains throw branches against our chopin windowpanes
forever stuck in this merry mad dog affair
nightfall- sleep cascades death valley summer selling brooklyn bridge coffins that could fill mystery oceans in the space that lay between us
in this long forgotten sunken ship bed
My heart breaks so readily nowadays--
at hearing of the sudden death of a friend
or witnessing the slow death of another.
My heart is wrenched to see dementia
in my lovely neighbor with her lovely
English accent, and the 'Oh my dears',
knowing her sparkling voice might
soon be stilled as she moves slowly
and irretrievably back into childhood....
I want to ask God the why, the why not
of this part of His Grand Design--but
I know there will be no answer--though
maybe I already have a partial answer:
for when I was young and selfish
(and perhaps even callous),
my heart did not see,
my heart did not hear,
my heart knew neither longing nor joy--
it was as though my heart were dead,
unfeeling, unresponsive... and fearful,
oh, so very fearful...
Now my heart lives and breathes and
feels pain and loss and joy: oh, the joy!
The joy that comes on seeing a friend,
on hearing my wife call out to me, or
a sonata I have loved for sixty years.
The joy of feeling the sun's heat whilst
walking under the deepest blue sky and
breathing in cool air, breathing in life....
Is that what God wanted all along,
that I unclothe my heart and bear it
naked to the world, in hope and love?
Crying uncontrollably
Hoping for a reprieve
Rarely coherent
Irretrievably broken
Stifling in tears
Trying to keep it together
Makes a token effort
Always lost
Sinks further
Do you know what it’s like
To have your freedom back at last,
To be able to choose new colours
Once pinned out of reach to the mast,
To find tho’ you’ve lost your employment,
You can still retain all of your pride,
To discover the grass is greener
On the unexplored other-side,
To patch up your battered ego,
Once thought irretrievably torn,
To feel a strong urge to celebrate,
When others expect you to mourn,
To take a fresh look at careers,
When you thought it was all in the past,
To discover your destiny’s liquid,
And never in concrete cast,
To realise your aspirations,
Which no more are held on ice,
To alter your life’s ingredients,
And add a small pinch of spice,
To discover you’re no longer frightened
By things that are different or new,
To embrace all those sensible changes,
And take a much loftier view,
To keep everything in context,
And never let monsters appear,
To look to your dreams and take aim,
Keeping your sights crystal clear,
To be intimidated no longer
By applicants younger than you,
To know a wise captain will always
Choose an experienced crew,
To retain your sense of adventure,
Your instinctive love of fun,
To put down the now closed chapter,
And enjoy the one just begun,
To be welcomed back to life’s table,
And invited to sit down and dine,
To feast till you’re utterly bloated,
And swill it all down with sweet wine.
Pretty like the crystalline canyon rocks -
Fair like a deer wandering in the morn' -
With the Great Spirit as a faithful witness
A baby girl named Red Feather was born
And for her onyx eyes and ruddy cheeks
An angel was sent with kisses to adorn.
Her misery began with John Martin -
A white trader of uncouth demeanor
Who took one day a Navajo woman
As payment for whiskey and gunpowder
And soon his bride realized an inheritance
But in so doing died young in labor.
Red Feather lived - lived with a cruel father
Who cursed her and of her did not boast -
Withholding not his friends who laughed at her
And was ignored by passersby the most -
Irretrievably lost between two worlds
That scorned red highlights and native clothes
Until one day when grief overwhelmed her -
She ran away - against the blinding tears -
Where else but to the village of her mother
But discovered that they too made jeers
At the sight of her and there enslaved her
And instead of love - realized her worst fears.
But solace found Red Feather at moments
When she'd steal away to Spirit Canyon
To gaze upon the weathered petroglyphs.
Silence touched her heart every now and then
As she'd sit among the lonely rifts
And consider the Earth with the heavens.
There among them was one where an artist
Told of the wish of an ancient warrior
To jump the cliff and join the gentle spirits
That captured Red Feather's awe in particular
And since the life ahead held not her interest
She soon desired him and her mother
So it happened during one nice spring day:
The wildflowers breezed as she took the path -
Eagles circled above her at midday
And Red Feather stood on the edge with wrath -
Embraced the sky and Sun and leapt away -
Seeking what the next world might have.
Since that time many a wayward Navajo
And traveler alike claim to have seen
Red Feather come to them - white with glow -
And swear wholly it was not of a dream
But that she lives - she lives as a ghost
Wandering along the cliffs and beneath.
So should you come to Navajo Country
Look sharp - Red Feather's spirit takes flight.
She may run silently with a clan of coyotes
Or dance in the shadows of your firelight.
She may be the breeze that blows softly
Or the silver mist that rises at night.
Your need lingered over me,
Demanding and squalling,
Drowning me in your
Chaotic desperation,
And suffocating the memories
We might have made.
Though you heard,
You would not listen
To the pleadings
Of long lost visions,
Even as they danced
Before your eyes.
Then you mistook
My vulnerabilities
For weaknesses,
And mounted your encapsulation
With grand fortitude,
Masquerading as love.
My belief in you
Was shattered
By those bruised moments,
Irretrievably committed
To the dedication
Of your definition.
So came the day
When your audacity
Compelled my strength
And I would not surrender
To your abuse,
Regardless of your lies.
Now a powerful bird finds
This place heartbreaking,
For the soaring dignity
That will never be -
Because I will not allow
My wings to be clipped.
What's new with me...Matthew?
Well for starters Nationwide
road service emergency
one man cutting crew
with battery charger in tow knew
exactly why no juice (think electricity),
his hunch found trunk light kept lit,
an innocent looking (to me or you)
lady's handbag accouterment,
fifty shades of blue
stuck out just enough did cue
automotive technician, who
witnessed yours truly flapping
imaginary wings (think) cuckoo
unwittingly, irretrievably, and
admirably lost me scant sanity true
"fake" news I trumpet as a gentile Jew...
Just in time for men
rhythmically singing, melodiously
acapella harmonizing huzzah olé
in white coats besotted and
bespattered with vegetable puree
to take me away
ho-ho hee-hee ha-haaa
hip...hip... hooray
to the funny farm yea,
where life beautiful every day
and skies fifty shades of gray...
Thus, the reason I type pell mell
(think hunt and peck),
an inner madness to quell,
while hermetically locked in padded cell
shut airtight like... a citadel
which soundproof environment hell
lava hot improvement versus dwell
ling with volcanic spouse, and well
equipped to nurture solitude, ah... nobody,
but me and Matty mattel
both of us undergoing re education
initiated courtesy crack atop
noggin tinnitus subsequently
experiencing ringing like liberty bell
afterwards undergoing gender reassignment
clearly yours truly exuded effeminate spell
not recognizing only muttering to himself
fancifully dolled up
as debutante mademoiselle,
and appearing sitting pretty I willingly tell.
Twas glorious occasion regarding
miracles of modern medicine to sing
namely routine engineered
sex change, bitty bing
bitty bang minus one
minor glitch really... nothing
but doggone veteran (aery) surgeon
pulled off bone huff eyed gracefully amazing
stunt at my expense unwittingly injecting
canine female hormonal secretions,
hence I find myself barking, ing
and strong desire burning
to frequent fire hydrants.
Cuz while ya steel got
moxie, don't nix chance if only a dot
before death finds
flesh rotting alot.
A self-actualized fringe benefit
as I racked up
orbitz round sun -
with increased measured,
(albeit neglected) ragged, and
shot thru tattered (turn shroud) -
regarding chronological yardage
brought to my dimming wattage -
sputtering third eye blind, sans
hindsight surveying extensive
emotionally frenzied groveling with
a lifetime penitential wreckage,
whence urgent critical (update)
foisted upon formerly entrenched
hermetically sealed voyage -
sequestered self wrought fallout,
viz long stretches of
time irretrievably gone with the wind
found me averse toward
commingling with village -
peopled within sin king
precincts of Lake Woebegone
joyus kneaded livingsocial
natives, now visa
vis (nee this past
and present atheist)
discovered the healing power
of powder milk biscuits,
when accommodated within Norwegian
bachelor farmer vicarage),
qua pained obligation now
imposed kickstarted mandate
to pay dying wage
clearly written along,
the sub weighted psyche walls
(over time) easily read
across my wrinkled visage,
where former cumulative
years of existence
pitched yours truly
figuratively teetering upon
precipice of abyss gave vantage
written in telltale creases
countenance spelling umbrage,
against me - asper tonnage
schlepping psychological Matthew
Scott Harris "baggage,"
wrought from decades
worth of uncultivated tillage
cuz n'er did I gather rosebuds...
during prime mortal teenage
stretch, thus present
day agonizing suffrage
yawning chasm miserably houses
bleak (Dickensian) testimony,
sans recovered anorexic
(NO...NOT... NEVER
bulimic), but feebly
endured desultory stage
punctuated quasi (moat)
towed riddled rattle trap ship
of state into deadly scrimmage
defies propped up
moxie succombing unrelenting
weathering, unforgiving savage
nasty, brutal and short sabotage,
wherein futile - short
changed growh opportunities
forfeited developmental stage
opportunities introverted
vehemence doth rage.
I recall writing checks in my spidery crawl.
The TV then was a humming spaceship
with glowing innards that deep-scanned
all who glued their flickering, bug-eyed minds to it;
it abducted whole families at a time.
That same television
materialized microwaves as heavy as lead ingots
replacing bread bins
while ushering in decades of TV dinners.
“Radio Shack’ and “Block Busters’ were thriving
The short brutal war between Betamax and VHS
was long over.
Cars had not yet learned to speak.
Many men thought that learning to type
would be a waste of their valuable time.
We had to go out to get stuff.
Fish in fish tanks
were considered adult entertainment.
The long married kept their sex life
hid like a ‘sixteen millimeter’ movie
projected onto the back of their brains.
Camera film had to be sent away
to be often irretrievably lost.
The food pyramid was thought to be
the right way up – we were already fat-heads.
We trusted the nightly news.
Then the Net captured us,
we found we had many hidden talents,
some even discovered how to wriggle their ears
and both at the same time!