Best Sundering Poems
"What is this strange place we find ourselves in
Trapped in the open, we find ourselves within"
Who can hear the forest still
Its light and mist fall calmly hushed
Bereft of leaves gripped in winter's will
Its naked soul lies burnt from autumns rust
Sundering haze as breath in cold
Melts in air through sunlit stands
Of forest simple, soft though bold
While natures will and peace command
Its parable is yet untold
Eyes behold serene repose
As tides of glimmering beauty shoal
To surge with mighty grandeur's glow
Into the heart it comes to rest
Zen's remedy is yet to show
The puzzle of this life’s mystery
As oneness flows to disclose
Can we be as one with every tree?
March 20, 2022
The colors of love,
Are the gardens of Spring,
And the flowers they grow,
Are a wonderful thing.
But the sundering sky,
Of a storm passing by,
Is a thundering flash,
In the form of goodbye.
For the colors we love,
On the wings of a dove,
Are the greys of our days,
In the billows above.
And the covers we lack,
For the sky that is black,
Are the edge of a ledge,
That is calling us back.
For the blue in your heart,
May be true in your mind,
But the roses you pick,
Are the petals you find.
And the love you abide,
Is the trouble you win,
And the source of your pride,
In a big double chin.
For the colors that last,
By the candor they bring,
Are the story of life,
In the glory of Spring.
So we savor the sun,
And the pure light above,
For the labors of life,
Are the colors of love.
This is the hard sense of it
The mythic falls apart
No Bojangle character in the story
The postmodern drama
Unfolds a new tragedy
I can hardly believe this was so deliberate
Yet no one saw the plunge into realism
Would do this
Would do this
And do it again deeper and deeper
Excoriating us
But in the sense of a morbid murderer
Bludgeoning to death our faith
Behind the concrete dimensions of space-time
Did they not understand
Did they not even think about it
For something else in us must have snapped
Before we took the stage and flopped
O it does not matter to you I see
You just like your poetry clean like a child's diaper
I just want the bond to hold between the child and I
This society will not know peace alone by that though
Man must believe in what he cannot see
To conform to the rigors of authority
Or else what else
Can coerce the sundering of individual will
If the mythic is dead
Should I tell them
That without the mythic we are dead
There is so much and so little
Realism can do for us
I think the modern focus is the debit's
Excessive show of losing habit
It is how we cipher even the spiritual
When nothing is left after
The mythic is dead.
Im half awake, and glaring at the sunrise
distant brilliance slowly eating at my dry eyes
squinted to best witness the aureate Apollo
refract off blades soaked through with dew
heaven's first blush, midsummer quiet, and coffee scent
cast clarity, light unveiling the burden
weighing down on every living being
clearest with the coming of the day
burning black holes into my brain's blank slate
sundering my soul 'till shatter state
fast approaches on the infinity of empty space
veiled out ahead of me
Restless with the lethargy of baring witness
I stir the pit, and catch flames leap up
from within carbon prints of gray matter
quelled embers lay suffocating beneath
ash dunes and smoldering phoenix feathers
matted and clumped by filmy deliquescence
spent of all but their will to rise again.
I grasp at the green broken glass
strewn about my feet like seeds
planted by last night's ignorance
and the sin of forced forgetting that
we all someday pay recompense
for our vice's and the gluttonous
way we all practice immoderation.
The world is quiet in lull
humanity lost to an illusion
breathing soft
and sleeping soundly
altogether
We exist
to want and rub against
the way the world turns on
a crooked axis, each moment less lucid
than those sunspots and dewdrops
coursing through dirt-clay veins and
branding the cracked dirt with morning
I cant shake loose the afterimage
imprinted on my blunted senses
experiencing everything I reach
is less than whole
understanding the universe
exists as fragments blackened in spite
of time's one plight forever pulling it apart
The sunset split the sky,
the fire danced and spit,
and the condensation clotted.
I seized eternity that morning
amidst the doldrums of sleeping masses
its truth intimate and calming.
I sense slumber cease and the suburbs rustle
the dreamers stumble about in waking
to shower away their sweat and dreamt delusion
start their cars, and drive away in sync
I listen closely to their heavy sighs
the shift of sagging shoulder plates,
bent under with Atlas tugging at the reins
kind's struggle never ceases to
echo off of terra firma, quaking
with each clanking of the chains
that bind our beating hearts to
alarm clocks, freeways, work weeks
and the torment of monotony
Paradigm unto eternity..' Yet knowing-less before the sundering decision, motive; persuasions...
Reaches of thought..' every entity included, persons worthy all..' I beseech while able, much to
Become true; is in existence, 'tense present' A relief of sorts is, and yet is passing; as inherent awareness hovers..'
under-standing.? I never knew in one lesson, then there was' now what has been, has..'
Coming is evermore, Subjugate errant thoughts, negative emotion still all can happen..'
Human reason in not always able, let what wills to do, do..' and remain in readiness..
Alive to murmurs of the Spirit Holy..'
© Joe Maverick 8-8-2015
As setting sun trails off behind a peak,
I lie in utter lone tranquility
here tethered to my earthly home. I seek
a sundering. . . A new mobility.
I focus on the hidden, inner me,
forgetting awkward limbs and hands and toes.
My body must entirely flaccid be,
so placidly I keep a still repose
that soul might elsewhere go past mountain tops.
Then suddenly, I feel my spirit pitch.
It spins; I’m on the brink. . . and then it stops!
I think this failure’s more than just a glitch.
I open up my eyes and see afar,
now twinkling with amusement, night’s first star.
(true story about my one attempt long ago for an OBE.)
Cicadas squeak in unutterable frequency
out in the wilderness. There is one pallor
face overlapping with the foliage. Tousled
hair and sloppy shoulders--she frees her
girdle. It kisses the cigar in her hand.
Willows weeping, washing her image
away. Her silhouette slips through anything
that forgets to seal their lips. Nothing can
desist her limpid temptation, they all
succumb under her voodoo.
An umbra of a scythe hung from the
ceiling, sundering the arms and legs of
the spiral staircase. Her raw toes print
melodies and paint elixir--calming those
reverberation of the broken timber.
She smells a burr from the nadir, leaps
onto the chandelier and into mid-air.
Both balustrades arise to cradle her till
she is swooned and slow, too slow to
savor the subterranean casket.
encircling and methaphor enhancing every chosen door,
door to be chosen moreover, with (winter green) as the clover,
clover green covering, shows subtle truth to the winter scene,
scene enhancing rich and (entrancing) new life to think upon,
upon every living thing let his grace be the covering, may all and sundry bring,
bring to the evergreen holly & ivy ring, life's transformed and wondering,
wondering yet sundering cares and needless worrying, on what the morrow brings.
brings him an answering today is my chosen theme, me for your cares to an end to
bring.
There is a mist
on the waters
As the ocean laps
against the shore we
realize it is time
for our journey to begin
The ship in the harbor
stands tall
It will take us
beyond this vale of tears
to a land where
stories have no endings
It will take us
over the sundering sea
to a place seemingly foreign to us
yet one we actually know well
in the deep recesses of our heart
As we board the ship
we experience a bittersweet
moment
We will miss the joys of Middle Earth
but we hear the call of Elvenhome
and we know it is time to forsake mortal lands
Time to head to the place which is our real home
Time to head to Elvenhome
And when it ends suddenly, unexpectedly,
You start to count.
First on the days, then the hours - then
Just counting until 100
Then
Beginning again.
The dead find their faces
The living count faces
Then most forget
Unless the face has your DNA in it,
But you remember the body bags
Being moved around in the night,
The nurses crying,
The lies being spread,
The excuses,
The obfuscation,
The blundering incompetence
Of bureaucracy and officialdom.
The elderly kept in deathcamps
that used to be nursing homes.
The grinning mayors
And governors.
It’s going away now.
Less and less each day.
It’s going away now
It’s going to a place
Where the living cannot find it
It’s going away now.
And suddenly you are very angry
About the stupid shut-ins and the shut-downs,
The politicization of tragedy.
The muddled and slanted statistics
The ridiculous projections,
The false data.
The contradictions and bluster.
The draconian regulatory and government
Sponsored power grabs.
The gagging and intimidation
Of workers.
The trashing of basic freedoms
People
Jailed,
Fined,
Harassed.
The banning's.
The right to collectively worship denied,
Peaceful protest denied.
Businesses forced into bankruptcy.
The unemployment
The waste.
And destruction.
The sundering of families,
The needless school closures,
The suffering that led
To clinical depression and drug overdoses,
The disdain of those
Who rejected commonsense remedies.
The manipulations
And machinations,
All the willing useful fools
Chorusing together to tread down
Democracy.
The grinning talking heads
Who doctored the news.
The attacks and the cancelling
Of those who begged to differ.
Dissenters labeled conspiracy theorists.
The cover-ups:
Gain of function.
GAIN OF FUNCTION.
The dumb mantra of the ignorant
Demanding we 'follow the science'
But the science was wrong
The scientists lied
They lied.
They all knew
AND THEY LIED!
And I am still counting
In case it returns
And I have a lot more things to count,
Lots more to tally and be made
ACCOUNTABLE.
The desert edge lies on the fringe of three worlds
And under this one sun I sit alone with one crow for company
Behind my worn down shack of lack lustre dreams
Rises to the horizon a jungle of Heaven’s Gate a lush and verdant wonder
To the right hand of my chair thunders the Blue Divide
Chill blue seas like the unrelenting hammer of a Dwarven God
It beats the rocks beneath the cliff with a lulling weary rhythm
That echo of the searing fire baking the earth on the left of my smile
Where the rocks steam in pain and crack beneath the weight they carry
Where the sands burn like coal in that desert forge
I tilted my head to the bright blue sky with its rising pastel hues
Listening to the murmurs across my back of Heaven’s Gate and her leaves
Sighing of the Blue Divide with her sweet breath rolling in with her thunder
Feeling the wafting of warmth billow over me from the desert forge
I sat as I have from the death of my youth to this the twilight of my days
It was a hot and sundering day, chill like no other before it thought my friend the crow
And he was right for it was a day of change, a day of foreshadows deep
On came a wanderer from lands that I have not travelled only visited
Bringing with him memories of the trails I have wrought through my own life
In brief glimpses I did sojourn into the emerald vault of Heaven’s Gate
Barely through the vines that choke the border of that world I strove in my search
And there beyond the wall I fell upon a path of soft grass damp with life
But I was not alone under the shadowy sunlight filtering down through the leaves
I could hear them moving all around me in the gloomy depths of the jungle
What they were I never knew, never caught sight of them completely
I only heard in horrified rapture their howling, their cackling echoes in the trees
They knew I was there though I could not see them they knew I was there
A stranger in their world, perhaps they thought me an invader, an interloper
So it was they chased me with screams and wailing cries like a thousand jackals
Ran me down biting the shadow of my heels as I ran blindly back, back, back to the edge
Stumbling I found myself broken down having past beyond the great barrier of vines
Those silent and vigilant protectors holding within their grasp a promise
Oh betrayal!
You carry the stink of death.
Death to all the love
Sundering God's will above.
The seed of distrust
Worms its way
Into the heart.
While the one we love
The one we trust
Replaces us
In his heart.
Oh betrayal!
You carry the stink of rot.
Rot to all we value
All vows old and new.
The seed of temptation
Hard to resist
Becomes the hardest cut.
While the one that's left
Sorely bereft
Replaces him
With a broken heart.
I turn off damn ringer,
nonetheless...
telephone still buzzes
twenty four seven
eight days a week
automated telephone calls
digitally recorded message
perfectly spoken English
differentiation to distinguish
"FAKE" simulation
all bot impossible
totally immune to escape
gagging hospitable invective
electronic jawboning immunized
against antipathy, cruelty, enemy,
hostility, insecurity, pleasantry
Yukon run to tallest mountain
dive into Mariana Trench
get catapulted into
outer limits of twilight zone,
yet NEVER be free and clear
getting wirelessly zapped
with visual ad audiological
offal dregs and spam
oh... , yes even after life,
while weightlessly
pinwheeling in limbo,
particularly during eternal sleep,
when dead souls repose
six feet deep
or corpse undergoes cremation...
yepper, infiltration into atomic core
blithely battered, jimmied,
cherry lee pitted, tweaked,
worse fate than return of Zombies
electrical essential existential
incorporeal surreal auditory ordeal
spurs indiscriminate human
to relish golden silence
spawning best selling novel
to flesh out fiction
Utopian treasured island story
winning unknown author
instant acclaim and glory
describing village people
livingsocial, free and clear
without annoyingly,
egregiously, infuriatingly,
maddeningly, quaveringly
vexing, nauseating, disrupting
blitzkrieg courtesy aggravating
trumpeting autonomous programs
hijacking brainstorming concentration
thwarting aim tug get back on target
(even when carrying on camping)
sundering coalescence
regarding colonizing black screen
aborted doomed genesis
of brilliant fleeting idea,
thus one smart
generic garden variety
longfellow forced to
grovel along boulevard
of broken dreams.
Any resemblance between above
hyperbole and living persons
purely coincidental!
Self Empowerment Of This Shemevdik...
January thirteenth two thousand
and nineteen will complete
mine third score orbitz round the sun,
(I can hardly believe that either)
who as a youth evinced
demure and effete
traits, and now weathered, Ongepatshket,
and plenty seasoned,
I feel ready to greet
a garrulous, humorous, and indecorous
Shikse for an indiscreet
liaison, where she will
get reddit to shutterfly,
and twitter like an uber keet
oozing with NON GMO
gluten and monosodium
glutimate saccharine dripping
with au naturale oversweet
ample bosom shapely waist,
and derriere replete
with plenty of junk in the trunk
cavorting, flirting, and issuing manumission
to fraternize, friskily frolic
fruitfully mixing bedlam with bunk
sundering politesse as a "FAKE",
gentlemanly, and honorable hunk,
when in truth,...this lapsed (Lou Zoo Lee)
christened nebish lunk
bookish, loutish, and wonkish teasing
seminarian formerly seclusive monk
keying into my inner philanderer,
yeah...yeah...yeah overdrunk
with prurient fantasies donning an imitation
of (guess who), one
narcissistic trumpeting punk
at heart my idol, no matter the teetering
ship of state he nearly countersunk,
which purportedly mirrors
his Wharton curriculum vitae,
which...well showed he nearly did flunk
apprenticed as POTUS with
FLOTUS attractive trophy
wife (number three) female chunk
and,...oh yes aesthetically
pleasing female real estate
from appearances marriage
barren and devoid of great
je nais sais quois,
though Melania rarely irate,
and partial government shutdown of late
reverberating with fallout, that does oscillate
furloughed federal employees to perspire
principally at increased amortization rate.
(thank you All Poetry, Facebook, family
Poetry Soup,... et cetera global friends.)
A network of cherished kinships allied
forged, and linkedin analogous
to union of groom and bride
thru electronic bonds engender intrigue,
nonetheless unconditionally accept,
no matter I chide
self, and reference mine existence
as if...this mortal already died
now more appreciative than ever,
cuz younger days witnessed
peers that did elide
me accompanied with relentless
teasing, snubbing, roasting
akin tubby kindled over a fireside,
thus...solitude shadowed me as sole guide
peopled with books
to escape and hide
from so called "real"
webbed world, yet inside
this former grievous
lad through alienation,
emasculation, and isolation no joyride
valuing myself less than a pawn on
chessboard of life
envying extrovert as kingside
station depriving, insulating, and
ostracizing yours truly belied
to Matthew Scott Harris
marginally functioning, and denied
him camaraderie, dating, enjoying
female friendships due
to lack of confidence and pride
and at the cusp of
pubescence...a slow descending ride
into the hungry (anorexic)
maws of suicide,
which ideations hammer psyche,
now aghast how I tried
(without success) to disappear sundering
mine complex edifice
into the wide
abyss of nothingness, hence to treasure
those electronic connections,
perhaps...totally no more'n four score
(and seven years ago)
all told of unbeknown village people
comprising worthy chums,
sans human league roar
ring (okay pardon the hyperbole),
but letting this foo fighter explore
a greater range of interpersonal
(no matter virtual), but each
unnamed cyber buddy worth more
than simple rhyming galore
words express, some
or all those who sprung
from Earth, wind and fire,
viz cosmic toreador
this poet would their
physical presence adore,
who realizes genuine experienced love
second best option
communicated thru the Internet...bonjour,
hence please accept at the least
(even thee lovely cousins,
daughters, sister Shari por favor,
a hug emanating from within mine
integrated central processing unit core!