Best Iterations Poems
no use dwelling on recent past
not much here really long lasts
rocks, planets, asteroids and stars
this existence briefly is ours
all soon becoming grist for change
eternity moves out of range
there was never a beginning
there is no definitive end
slow evolving onward spinning
the infinite only extends
beyond interstellar foundations
the good, sublime, complex and bad
just how many iterations
has our universe by now had
focus remains on here and now
when imaginations allow
drifting above, out and beyond
what civilizations have spawned
to nether realms of infinite
where all becomes ambivalent
seems much too much to comprehend
everything endlessness portends
"My First Instrument"
Bassoon baby so special to me
The first thing I really took care of
Instrumental to my growth
I cleaned it every day
Woodwind wonder
Of stained sycamore maple
A glossy fine finish
For someone just beginning
Sleeping with my jazz filled fantasies
I was a double reed romantic
Leading hit ensembles
For the restaurant down the street
Practiced awkwardly were sheets of music
Letting out so many terrible sounds
Repulsive to even the neighbors
Cementing my ineptitude
I had a case for a device I could not handle
It was black and lightly gilded
For containing a cacophonous weapon
Most threatening
But caring parents blocked their ears
With cotton balls packed inside
While my idiotic iterations went on upstairs
For all those many months
And after some time had passed
Rejection from the band
And looks from the neighbors
Playing I was on a musical beast of burden
When I put it all together
A sensation of madness evolved
That no one could tell me the truth
I stunk worse than burning rubber
So I used it to get my way
A sort of give me what I want
Asking for more desert or staying up late
'Cause I'll play, believe me, I'll play!
Eventually I went to my parents and told them "I quit"
They removed the cotton and responded in turn
With smiles galore and threats from the community no more
Everybody was nice to me again
if you can not speak, hear ...
I am no better than you -
we are turning inward en masse
light gleams from the mountaintops and steeples
warning us with dread, yet our swirling head is never fully fed
the beast, reticent as death, wastes breath on blame
it screams without a voice to shatter the mirror of truth
begs with keen intent to move our lips
to reach and grow and sing
the song matters not ...
it is the lilt music of elucidation that begs to tremble the air
and the sacred echos not our own ...
lies and cries ... moans-to-sighs
the pregnant replies that move in the womb of hope
cloaked in doom they grope for sound, sacred
but are born wan and still and cold ...
if but a heaven's thunder to rattle the starry veil
to coax the sun to wail its bright, athwart the darkening hem
to tear the dreams from our hearts, and cast them upon our fellows
to feel the weighty wonder of dire discourse and deliberation
to burn our iterations in the frozen flames of compromise
but first, to daub tender our lips with utterance
for if the air hangs deaf and dewy like the crimson morn
we will surely earn our sorry fate and folly
and cold curse ...
of silence ...
if you hear, speak.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Sound Of Silence" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
On certain days, I’m moved only by a tailwind,
The breathing of the sky, the cadence of my heart.
On special days, I know only the imagined,
The sanguine waltz cascading from the start.
Some days, I just inhale the spice of powder earth,
The emanations of every life force I behold.
I dwell in iterations, the treasures of life I unearth,
Each moment is serendipitous, so wondrous, and bold.
On given days, I inhabit my core quiet, my still pond,
In touch with my tranquil repose, my smooth slumber.
I center in my soothing moment, never looking beyond,
I may be circumspect in my introspection, but never somber.
On different days, I drift on tidal dreams of many moons,
The wash of whispering oceans, and undiscovered seas.
I breathe in the briny fever of green, my private lagoons.
I savor the firmament, all the pleasures felt with ease.
On other days, I carry the chorus of every endearing flame,
Every deep carnal craving recalled, renewed, and revived,
I regret all the lost loves for which I am solely to blame.
Repairing my past, I long to heal all those I have deprived.
On certain days, I’m moved only by a tailwind,
I touch my reset button to live all my life in the imagined.
Inside a woman’s head is a dangerous place.
They’ll be many iterations for them to save face.
They’ll see another woman’s lipstick on the rim of a cup.
Which was Gin and Ruby Red that you just turned up.
They will beef and squabble, erasing any ********.
Then, blame it on you, calling it major rejection.
After that your are charged with booking booty calls.
You wonder if its pre-menstrual, or pre-menopause.
You are truly befuddled on where its coming from.
Don’t look for logic, ‘cause there’s absolutely none.
Patience is truly a virtue at times like this.
Just keep your mouth shut and endure the ****.
This too, will pass, you keep telling yourself.
While wanting to wop that ass, asking God for help.
A woman swoops down on you like a military drone.
With thoughts out there somewhere in parts unknown.
She was beautiful like the rainbow.
Her fragrant smiling words of luminance. .
Unleashed adrenaline into his mind..
with tactile thoughts of proximal paradise.
His five senses collaborated a screenplay. ..
with billions of brilliant tangled neurons.
He imagined... .the fantasy of being in love.
But deep in the sky of his heart..
Gathered dark chasing clouds.
Storms of rain, snow, sand, fire..
swirled up the grey matter.
The trident crooned,... "Probably","Possibly", "Surely"..
Temperature rises to drop the pressure..
A storm breaks inside the brain.
The folds and crease immerse in chaotic squall.
Pulverises the pernicious clouds.
Thunderstorms rumble loud.
Sparks of lightning flicker.
Perfidious friction is now visible.
Resonance of sight and sound.
In ledger of brain transactions drowned.
A sullen algebra of equations..
with iterations of sixth sense
convolute a restless nexus of unknown variables.
With fearless freedom, the brain breaks and shakes..
A hurricane of frustration. .
A tornado of desperation. .
Yes..He endured the disruptive baritone storm.
It crashed him hard..
He muttered, " It's just a passing crush ".
A thick blanket wraps and obscures the windows of his eyes.
The impending rain peacefully waits for the sun..
for the beautiful rainbow of true love
16th October 2018.
Placed 3rd WIN position in the contest.
Submitted for BRAINSTORM poetry contest sponsored by John Hamilton.
Contest description: 1 original, poem on the theme of BRAINSTORM , an inside compassionate view into a fractured mind; the winning poem will be full of emotion and drama. Minimum 12 lines maximum 40 lines. Free verse is only acceptable form.
Past years of lives of ages gone
yet dark shadows shaping choices,
hiding unrecognized options
waiting for New ReSolutions.
Future lives unraveling evil absent
blinders
doubling over crying laughter
days of PreHistoric Futures
cooperatively over-invested in competing
to Win a race only won through losing
Ego's monocultured nighttime face.
Past tears seeding passion's future flowers.
Flowers tearing weeds' convexing past repression.
Regenerating concaved echoing fusions
deeply recessing degeneration's fission,
co-arising to co-fall PolyPerennial Harvest
of ReSolutions.
Reverse-cycling trees praying through root systems
Their feathered leaves may climax each timeless day
to rest deeply ruthless shy fear of unending sad sacrifice
fogging elation's joy in timeless glad elation
for this ReGenerate PostIndustrial Season
of ecotherapy deductively induced
Natural RootSystemic Reason.
Future years of loves
of ages co-emerging
bicamerally enlightened form
as eco-balancing Tao function,
bilateral Time bowing Namaste
facing Elational Space's NonZero ZenAsDay,
spirited concave forms
emerging Time's naturally harmonic
complex function.
Natural Science merging Spiritual ConScience,
Transitional Generation cooperatively growing Post ReGeneration,
Physics polypathing MetaPhysics,
EcoSystems dancing 4-step MultiSystemic Dialectical Therapy
Hope faithing Active Love,
Energy revolving Synergy, conjoined as Integrity
Iterations evolving CoEmpathic ReIterations,
Oppositions co-arising NonDual Appositionals,
Yintegral dual-dark enthymeming YangYin cosmic-logical balance,
ionic tipping points co-drawing nondual ergodic-holonic harmony,
Win-Lose Becoming Win-Win Being
(0) cooperative Elation radiating Prime Ego/Eco Relation
TaoTime wealth investment
regenerating RNA strings of cooperative health
Old Year's concave Eve begetting New Year's Timeless convex Day
co-arising
dream embracing compassions
TransParenting vulnerable pleasured Nights.
toward thee spunky gal,
whose impregnation and debut appearance
way to brief a tale for Aesop
cuz, (umpteen iterations recounted),
out the birth canal aye did bop
analogously compared
to a mealy mouthed measly crop
a spindly tangle of arms and legs
radiated (starfish like)
dangled and would uselessly drop
like a raggedy ann male counterpart
(raggedy andy - how original)
with limbs that didst flop
and tis no small wonder, thyself as one
newborn baby body electric
easily confused with bony glop,
which skimpy weight
leant convenience as sigh grew older
to alternate jumping
(ala pogo stick mode) and hop
from one skinny spindle shank leg to another,
and manifold orbitz whip
sawing round the sun
bore witness to puny laughable specimen
of a nerdy lad, who (in hindsight)
grew long straggly hair,
which NO ONE (except me) could touch,
nor most definitely NOT lop
off (this fetish) compensation
for very slight physique
in dewed time begot
pencil necked geek milksop,
now at an age prowl lix sing viz
dragging, crawling, battling...
slight abdominal bulge
unlike widower octogenarian biological pop
whose once strapping superman
like build atrophying (sad sight)
since grim reaper put objectionable stop
upon head of harriet harris,
whereat two and a half score years
her longevity did top.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
now, comb may tooth how zen,
sans eight plus ten
'twill be thirteen yars
when me late mum agonizingly relinquished
an indomitable loo ving life,
which strong fighting spirit
(spittle and vinegar) yen
reached a juncture,
(sans metastasized ovarian cancer)
forewent heroic measures, which ken
not avail bottled anger within this sole son
telling thee, he didst love ye
never communicating NOR often!
Regenerative health opportunities
engage divinely omnipotent passions
omnipresent deep copassions
omnisciently felt cooperative intent
of co-invested green panentheists
Systemically,
necessarily whole organic
synergetically requiring
dipolar co-arising round corporate risks
of eventual degenerating time lines
To project and prepare sufficient safe space
and healthy multi-generational time
for subsequent recreative iterations,
sacred economic exchanges,
co-empowering transactions,
resilient nonviolent communicating relationships
Transubstantiating
win/win health systemic
optimal EarthJustice
trauma prevention
enlightening bodymind
EarthTribal resilience
of co-invested empowerment.
There is a language in the language that only I speak
There is a weave of gossamer meanings that vibrates
Meant to tremble the spirit like song on the tympans
To drunken the heart with omens of love and passion
These words, these constructs of phonetic iterations
I can only judge with their strums of my heartstrings
In all humility, a music that sometimes moves, or not
And it is to each soul, in turn, to breathe it joy ... or silence.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "You Be The Judge" Poetry Contest
Bobby May, Judge & Sponsor.
Your Judgment Rating: Musically lyrical, intently ambiguous, soundly anapestic
let me take thee dear reader rabbit alas and alack
on an imaginary carpet ride whisk king ye dis family back
rheumy eyes started to water from nostalgic clack
until reverse time warp registered
late 19600's, without one kink
smooth all the way akin
to a flawless artful lettered link
no harm to any animals,
though a near head on collision with a mink
crossing the bridge o'er Tarabithia one gruff troll
nearly upended our smooth sailing thru ether with a roll
over maneuver that near went awry,
but for the amazing grace of dog a poll
lease trained pooch,
who cuz born on Christmas christened Noel
accompanied with lady and the tramp
no major plans did we need to revamp
and upon arrival at destination
received good house keeping stamp
of approval to begin playing an all time favorite
pass time (with rules adapted as needed) to hit
a high score, when at some impromptu moment lit
an unseen spark, then after determining
who would go first, (while whirling in a small orbit)
now both of us far to involved to quit
we applied “rock”, “paper”, and “scissors”
and commenced our aim
which entailed (either me or shari)
to choose other than our own class picture to claim
for the other sibling to identify the correct name
though thru countless repetitions, the novelty did not get bland
a minor bit of concentration each of us did politely demand
of student (or teacher), whatever kid our index finder did land
number of iterations continued, how many...oh brother,
sans gesticulating rigmarole without asking mother
father, nor eldest sister, 'til eventually every girl and boy
(from respective grade including the other)
accurately identified, than back to the future we went
after what seemed like an eternity spent
revisiting nostalgic day of yesteryear,
when upon arrival to the heron now birds-eye view
our bodies morphed aging at warp speed
thomas sister this yawping crotchety old fogey gent.
(alternately titled -
today's lesson iz
addressing categorical imperative)
Courtesy of unpleasant he
ping diatribes visited me
from eldest offspring ugh gree
guss vituperations, doth force me
to admit (and take key
lock, stock, and barrel
lamentations to heart), that she
(Eden Liat) didst
perceive (hence nee),
interpret as her reality
regarding my actions,
intents, words, et
cetera men knee
instances of objectionable
dealing with situations
of mine mien to thyself
(lamely, meekly, and nervously
pleading being oblivious),
nonetheless purportedly untoward
fatherly behavior, said kin recoils
in reaction to extremely re:
pulse sieve, no matter,
whether paternal behavior
of mine unintentional (see
ming lee) find
ding total unawareness
as poor excuse, which does not
hold candle box
three doors down, nor
bankable, dutiful guarantee
hence this papa, heed decree,
his displeasing, now accepting
onerous task of child rearing
inflicted hurtful affects asper,
mismanaging challenges
as legal guardian,
and thus grievously, honestly,
and readily attests averse
to hold a mirror be
fore my person as
proof positive aware
ness, and accept,
how I usurped carte blanche
(parental role, no
matter honest intentions,
sans welfare of daughters)
unknowingly shamefacedly interpreted
as unflattering about me
whom willy nilly
bandied authoritarian free
reign (and/or rein)
recounting mine foibles, viz
despite my best intentions,
impressions, and iterations
as even handed sues err un tee
I mint jewel
lip succoring (suzerainty)
spurring the conundrum,
que who, what,
and how does one pre
sent lee define
true intentions, and whether
neutral stance can be cree
jewel less lee codifies, si?
As a child, looked darkness
in the eye
My truth always within,
love does not die
Remembered ere entering,
this solid state
and many times since,
traversed that gate
That those call death,
whose memories are locked
All who come with purpose clear,
know tis only blocked
Be not melancholy,
for here all must travel
Else would hierarchies of life unravel
Since that time, home's music
was shattered
From thence our souls myriad pieces
were scattered
Now thru many iterations of birth
Seeking to gather, parts lost on
beautiful Earth
Our thirsty spirits,
never stop yearning
So please know, death is but
this quest's turning.
Written May 17th 2018 for contest
sponsored by Broken Wings
theme: love does not die
Placed 8th
Do not take my words
that embraced me late in my life
for now I feel deaf
without the sound
of the rhymes or iterations
and dead if I cannot
liberate myself by them
in non-sensicals or metaphors.
Let me scribble to hearts content.
My freedom lies in these little evasions.
Every photograph is a death of the self you were,
Your life a quest to save your younger versions,
Or destroy them.
The Photo Album that holds your incarnations
Is a museum that opens like a child’s pop-out book
And every instance captured with a flicker therein
Is an atomic fraction of all iterations that have appeared.
In your future there is an old man, or an old woman,
Who is holding you, not all but a few frames of you,
Chainstoking breath, desperate to utter the words they
Need you to hear, for you want to save yourself now,
Your self now.
The rest of the Album
Is burned.