It’s a place I feel off—
not wedded to anything.
Truculent.
I think in riddles
and answer in metaphors.
I dance on my tiptoes—
an adagio of agony.
Passion pirouettes
out of sight.
Tethered.
Bound by grief.
Temptation forgotten,
tempered.
It no longer exists.
It was a pas de deux,
now it’s just a deuce—
a petulant penitent,
an unwanted pardon.
The dancer stirs.
The pulse quickens
to a tango.
Recalcitrant and longing.
Unable to follow the white line
unless it’s condemned.
So the path ahead is delusional—
felt, not seen.
When will the blocks of life
build up
and make me feel safe?
I feel like I’m
in a correctional facility.
I am my own door.
I am my own jailor.
I realise I have the key.
I bury it
under the pile of shame
in the corner.
He is Desperate Dancer Dickson,
Styles rehearsing with Gifted Ericson
Coveted first prize eyeing
Much of Michael Jackson trying…
Avidly seeking some chance
To the rest outshine in a dance
He was ready to around prance
And the wind stab with a lance…
For this, still thinking of everything
But from it figuring out not a thing.
“One thing is sure: a dancer can jump”
Like one avoid an abysmal dump
And should sometimes slump
Like taker of a choker lump”.
Now and again, a little of Michael Jackson,
Betraying his mixed feeling about being Dickson;
Off and on a determined tilting
At the Choreography of Trainer Milton.
Mirror
Splashing scribbles
Whispers in azure stream
A lovely rousing melody
As blissful winds sweep surface in delight
Pondering light dazzles brightly
Peaceful dancer waltzing
Trapped inside the
Mirror
4th Place Contest Winner
Written: February 10, 2022
Give me a Rictameter! Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: M.L. Kiser
Sacred scripture, especially creation stories,
is to natural-spiritual (nondual) experience
As permaculture designs
are to polycultural outcomes
As cooperative economic intent and planning and investment
are to loving political incomes
As nutritional planning
is to health care giving and receiving
(also nondual)
As ecological wisdom
is to sacred polypathic scripture,
especially re-creation stories.
Series of daydreams blind me,
reality seems dull and bland.
When awake I'm still fatigued,
It's time to take a stand.
Reality is all work,
striving to provide.
Elaborate dreams of success,
projecting deep inside your mind.
In your dreams you can be successful,
doing what you do everyday.
You can make an infinite income,
and have everything your way.
The average human being in reality,
makes a decent wage.
Still, most struggle to survive,
trapped in life's invisible cage.
No limitations in the fantasy realm,
your mind sets the stage.
Choreography by the unconscious,
horizons spread a distant gauge:
***I own a little cottage on fifty acres of land.
Fields of vegetation and a lake made by man.
***A beautiful model bride to exemplify true love.
Another on the side I just picked her up last month.
***A private corporate jet with my own attending crew.
To do with at my discretion, "Sir, what can I get you"
***An over-sized garage with every car my brain produces.
This is definitely a mirage, oh how my brain seduces..
Jared Pickett
12/21/05
Asavvy1