Best Lapsing Poems
This year I turned the big ‘5-0’
And my body is acting strange
So I went to see the doctor who said
Not to worry, as I was going through ‘the change.’
“Is there anything I can take?” I asked
He replied, “There’s HRT
But I don’t believe in prescribing it,
Let’s try to deal with this naturally!”
You could have knocked me backwards
And I thought, all well and good for him
It wasn’t his raging hormones
Making him feel like a stranger within
He doesn’t get narked, by the little things
That before would go over his head
Or wake up at night, in a lather of sweat
And have to get up to change his bed
It isn’t him having palpitations
Which make you feel like you’re going to die
It’s not him, who feels angry one moment
And the next as if he could cry
He’s not lapsing in concentration
Or feels like he’s his losing his mind,
Because he put the milk in the washing machine
And it took him an hour to find!
It isn’t he who keeps feeling so crap
When a ‘monthly’ is missed or comes late
And I bet he never just has to look at food
In order for him to gain weight!
He’s not always taking medicine for thrush
Or constantly needing to pee
So I bet he’d be first to pop the pills
If it was him going through this, not me
So I looked at him and said “I’ll give it a go
But I don’t really hold much hope”
And walked out of his surgery, feeling as though
I could have hung him with some rope!
But off I went and months have gone past
Of getting worse doing - ‘naturally,’
So I’ve made an appointment with a lady doc
Who might take pity, and prescribe ‘HRT.’
mid song ~
yet almost lost to longing
methods of the mundane
soothe no more
distance holds my gaze
in ways that purge time
but not infatuation
the intricacy of binding spells compels
steals me back
to last gasps
of ecstasy
shimmers of tears clash
with murmurs still embedded in stone
lapping waters draw me under
until it is I that is too weak of will
within your embrace
I should expire
entranced completely by desire
no lapsing thoughts
nor dread in swathes
a mystery scaled
in a myriad of ways
woken up and ushered in
retrieved from perpetuality of sin
by moving earth
and crashing wave
transfixed eternal
by all the ways you save
Further days are passing, lapsing long
Upsetting to unbecoming
At dawn, always loneliness undaunting
That continues on...
By inward breaking in
Will it ever come to fruitions end
The offsetting, untiming, to complete unnerving
This I ask myself, as the sun and I are quickly becoming
Sinking, drowning friends
Deep into each others night of nexus, merciless and unrelenting
The drag of it, an exasperating friction exhausting
By this not forgetting, beneath the spotlight of a taunting moon
As too soon, again the beginning
Of, the into giving
Another phase unto going through
And hence, once again to my own undoing
Upon this orb I do not move, but yet I am spinning, drifting
With a consequence left of, more of nothing, more
But, creeping cracks eroding, what once was forever yours
Of this tattered soul, that now must face its first inquisition heartbreaking
About a love in a tilted world, serendipitous it seems, only when it's still
Or, a branding upon a human’s fragile heart
With "why's" which one will never be fully comprehending
Or rather a hope that may never even be fulfilled
As I rummage through the cabbage patch of general affairs,
I’m made aware of certain signs of cultural decline.
I see it written in the talon marks of chem-trails overhead,
Confirming all my pet conspiracy theories.
It’s rooted in the topsoil of a flat earth conviction.
It’s every suburban legend’s low hanging fruit.
It’s the latest mass shooting as a Tik-Tok challenge
Teasing gut brain muscle memories with algorithms of outrage.
It’s all flash, but no drive, just broad-spectrum rhetoric
Inducing Karenoia and cultivating satanic panic,
All in the name of the Good Lord and Savior.
It’s the dog whistle only heard by those whose ears
Cannot think outside the Fox, where waxy yellow build-up
Is impacted, unyielding to the voice of Reason.
It’s, “OK groomer,” “Don’t say gay,” and "Let's go Brandon."
It’s the Battle Hymn of the Replacement.
It’s the influencers trending on social media.
It’s the meme that captures the lapsing of just a still moment,
Like a fly frozen in the amber of time everlasting.
It’s the universal selfie unapologetically posted on the Cloud.
You may be cool, but you’ll never be Korean cool.
And yet you try ever so hard to be.
When I slice with Occam’s butter knife
The loaf becomes a senseless pile of crumbs.
And so it goes.
For more than forty years he mustered horses to the yard,
Reminding all the younger blokes “You’ve ‘gotta’ stay on guard,
For even decent broken horses have a spirit that is high,
And the months of lengthy grazing, can make them saddle shy”.
His spoken word was ‘gospel’ to the ringers on the rail,
As they watched the flighty gelding with it’s sinewed body flail,
In a wretched test of strength between a man and bucking horse,
With just a moment lapsing came a death demanding force.
The sickening thud of hoof against the now defenseless skull,
Placed a numbness through the ringers in a seeming timeless lull,
Some rushed toward their mentor, some to keep the horse at bay,
And every face looked grim as they carried him away.
Time can seem eternal when the basic aids are not of use,
A man is hardly breathing and his limbs are falling loose,
When the doctor is still coming from an hour’s flight away,
And the women of the station ask the station men to pray.
Throughout the day the horses wait beneath the bloodwood shade,
And ringers eager in the morn have felt their interest fade,
Their thoughts are feeling for the man upon a homestead bed,
Not knowing if the man’s alive, or if the man is dead.
Their faces gray and gaunt have their vision quite impaired,
As they sought their own direction and in silence quietly stared,
With prayers of understanding (that ringers rarely speak),
The silence and the waiting turned around their other cheek.
The hours passed to falling dusk and still there is no word,
The whinnying of a waiting horse is all that can be heard,
And the tension in the quarters caused a snap toward a bloke,
When the eerie still was broken by… “Has anyone a smoke?”
Through homestead blinds by shadows, steady movement could be seen,
The ringers broke their silence wondering what the movements mean,
They walked across the yard and heard the footsteps on the floor,
And every mind was focused on the opening of the door.
The chestnuts are in full flower and the sycamores are humming with bees,
Meadow grass is knee deep full of flowers, the dog rose climbs up a fence,
The cowslips sway gently like the sea in the corner of a lime green meadow,
Cowslips retire at the end of May their day is now over we say a sad goodbye.
Blackberry bushes burst into glowing white flowers protected by sharp thorns,
Grass grows higher around the hedges of the glade than a working corn field,
Sitting on a bank by a river gushing, bubbling and boiling from earlier rains,
And in the grey shrubbery a squirrel plays in the grass and two swallows sing.
Nests are found high in the trees and deep bushes guarded by jealous mums,
Lapsing waters and blossoms are perfect partners and sweet grasses rustle,
The blossoms of the many apple trees change and blow away by a May breeze,
Blossom floats on rushing water sailing away swirling towards the rough sea.
The old quince is in full bloom with its pale flowers and bright yellow leaves,
The weather is warm not too hot just right for a long stroll with a midday sun,
Walk the river banks with its mustard tribes next to the mature giant colts-foot,
Wander over to a copse of trees hiding blue-bells that are singing and ringing.
A glance across a void; a heartbeat trips,
a longing from within her essence yearns.
From Cupid’s bow on rose stained satin lips,
unfaltering, a tender smile returns.
No words in fury, or raised voices plied;
the certainty of eyes forever kind;
no restiveness when tears of sorrow cried,
as unvoiced ear drinks tales of troubled mind.
A strong yet silent presence reassures;
unquestioning, uncritical and staid,
still through the lapsing years as life matures,
unchanging as past mem’ries are replayed.
In frames of time-suspended happiness,
lie photographs of love … no more … no less.
**sometimes, all that remains is a treasured photograph
Are our lives set by divinity? Does everyone have this born affinity? Lapsing for infiniti-
Coming from the trinity- Continuing for eternity?
So many questions to why we are born,some induced to scorn, lives lived forlorn,
Living an oath sworn, others go back to religion, reborn, some work till they are tired
and warn. Others simply "weather the storm" forever questioning- forever torn.
Just which one makes you saddest mate
When you must disappoint a friend
Or when they’ve disappointed you?
I’ve pondered this a lot of late
As more and more friends meet their fate.
I shouldn’t blame them but I do,
Though not one chose to have life end
It’s like I’m stood up for a date.
I feel increasingly left out,
Bereft to know why they’re not here,
A mystery, how best to grieve!
Somehow all friendship’s now in doubt,
Like all my charm has lost its clout
I wear my sadness on my sleeve.
Confusion clouds the atmosphere
My GPS dead on my route.
Not right perhaps to feel such shame,
Their deaths as stain upon my life
However much I feel it’s true.
I still have poetry’s acclaim
Still feel the passion of its flame,
The promised bliss of friends quite new,
My loving muse a faithful wife,
With paradoxes still to tame.
And what of friends though still alive
That let time pass without contact?
So easy to pick up the phone,
To rescue love from its nosedive
And lapsing synapses revive,
Is it my job function alone
To keep shared memories intact?
Do they not care that I survive?
How many wait for other’s call
To prove that they themselves exist,
Some miracle to prove God’s real,
Reliance placed on fashion’s mall,
Consumption now man’s all in all,
Our value we would rather steal,
Than substitutes for love resist?
And thus with Absalom we crawl.
How strong the Love that we ignore
In gentle grace or servant’s smile?
God give us strength to seek His rest
Avoiding fate of dinosaur.
God’s Love’s the one we should adore,
His Law the Guide that serves us best,
Humility toward extra mile,
The Wave that washes us ashore.
Brian Johnston
June 21, 2016
I fell this morning-
Stumbled over fear, surrender my bitter dressings
Kissing the distance of sanity
Defying gravity
Levitating toward the inevitable
Plunging into the comfort of solace fed into my spirit as joy becomes mine
Shoulders lightened
Released the burdens.
Unclogged empty spaces looking to fill lonesome nights with conversations
Extended one time moments to last
Lapsing into the disease of love
Nestle this heart in loyalty.
Faithful to the thought
I fell this morning-
Hit the snooze button to return to the passion jump starting my heart.
Misstepped through the possibility that a frozen heart could melt for carmel skin tones and baritones cadences.
Opening the potential of waking up to you til death due us bonded together forever.
I fell this afternoon-
Watched my tears stain satin pillowcases as you become my questioned tomorrow.
I slipped And stumbled over the misunderstanding right into love's possibilities.
What if I told you I fell in love with you this morning.
@ANUthepoet
Journey's end of the final leg of our life.
Our independence, our kids want to take away.
You do your things and just please let us do ours.
The youth think their elders are lapsing into apathy.
No longer caring about life or worldly things.
At our old age we've become world-weary.
Wrinkled and not as strong, but still breathing in life.
We have much insight and wisdom rather than ambition.
But the young are too busy to really listen to the old.
We are too tired and old to fight with our young.
Eccentric is whispered, we never felt so alone.
Apathy is part of growing old, a sadness of old age.
Our youth appears loud and frantic ordering us about.
Too much chaotic confusion is hard on our old brains.
We'd rather avoid conflicts and let harmony stay within.
We still have a full deck, we just shuffle it slower now.
All we ask from our young folks is patience and respect.
It's the sadness that takes us out not necessarily our age.
'A Tribute To Old Age'
For Nathan A's contest, "Any Poem"
Utopian only in the eyes of the incipient yet vastly virtuous inverse commanding
leagues of the damned. Unbound in a secular disposition it rots, the treaty of the
voracious. A reciprocal nexus lapsing into a grave valor. Inter-dimensional seals torn
asunder for control. Looping utopia, learning untold evil.
Hey,
He really misses you:
Those days I were cloy'd with sickness, my every breath seized with torment- he conjured a black delirium: th weightlessness of death. In those lonely morning possessions, he missed you.
Then there are those days I ran mile after vapid mile, till my nauseated lungs wheezed for air; till I surrendered to th tempestuous seaside affair- to find my whole again. Those freedom nights where most his fears were assuaged, he thought of you fondly too.
Unaware of th moment anymore, I have traveled th expanse of space & time alone. Whilst he- my lapsing soul- prison'd indefinitely in th enamored romance that once was; bobbing in th middle of th Pacific Blue that stretches out as far as th sun-baked eye can see: an endless world of ocean & sky with nothingness in sight- no reference points to tell him he has gone nowhere ever since. Not that he cares, really, as long as you are there with him. He misses you every day.
Love,
Th grid on which he hangs.
Star berry soap suds
midnight moon as my witness
River skin shoulders
shivering a quiet cool
lapsing into liquid pools~
Music notes and exclamation points
Particles colliding with sight crystallized to form
Spiraling cyclically midst graviton pull
Grip mind fathom power with thin flavored lines
Tone deafening my lips chap against visuals
Lapsing time stands ground still out of metered sign
Kind window openings screen systematic filtration
Feeling a wee bit photoshopped hearing pictures
And
Seeing voices...
12/26/2016