Disparate, she commented,
The word reverberating
As fond music, with pleasant
Measures and tingly tones --
And should we not be open
To others’ voices, divergence of
Thinking? As with clear-eyed
And blinking, a look-see is worth
The now, hoping, anticipated
Enlivened journey of daring
Vistas, elongated dimensions --
Spirit/mind ever on the hunt for
Spirit/source – life is a series
Of Lost And Founds...squares
Seeking their counterpart rounds --
Not diametrically opposed, just
Points and edges making intriguing
Bounds – but never a harmony all
Quaking Spheres. Simply enjoying
A unique volume of eyes, noses, voices
And pert little ears.
She likes to embroider me -
a subjective needlepoint
yet a realistic arts and crafts.
A long relationship
requires some fine stitching.
I see a broken thumb nail,
a hand greasy with engine oil.
A vinaigrette of my silhouette
cleaning grandpa's old revolver
just because I do sometimes,
just because.
A chipped tooth and beat-up nose
the fist that hit it, now nowhere
to be challenged.
A telltale hint of man-boobs
an old man's wrinkly bottom.
Her fingertips are clear-eyed,
but the images are softened
with a patient love.
She also embroiders
hummingbirds, butterflies
and flowers -
a holy trinity to encircle a baldhead,
the dome of which
she kisses each night.
She composes
all these scraps of my reality
on a broad white cloth
that I am happy to wash
my sleep-fuzzed face with
each morning.
(Oso on a Purrrsian rug)
Lessons From a Cat
It’s okay to be independent
It’s okay to expect the best
It’s okay to simply sit and watch
Clear eyed, without emotion
As all around others judge you
As selfish or aloof or just plain lazy
As they project
Onto your purrrfect equanimity
(11/30/24)
Here is a calligraphy a blue veined script,
on the rusty sheen of mortality.
Life and death are scrawled everywhere,
yet the clear-eyed read eternity:
written in-between these.
There one sees
the cursive messages that God writes
upon all things leaving
or yet to come.
Nowhere to nest
he said it out loud
'Birds have nests, foxes have dens'
but we who scatter the earth
into places for the soul to shelter within
can find no home here.
What is that strange knocking
upon your heart,
who shatters all barricades
tears down your doors?
That would be the clear-eyed beggar man
he who travels in and out
of every shell we construct
from spit, sticks and the mud
that falls from our fears.
Say yourself out loud!
That bright being
that destroys castles
and the air they are built upon
he comes for you
and he is you.
For all I can say, The Worst Disease
Is the one we cannot fetch its ease,
Clear-eyed would trifle with its treatment,
While hospitals have its liniment:
The Danger asking for a Bank Loan
And one sure of priest’s prayer alone…
While the doctor’s bill is obstacle
God with Christ won’t halt His Miracle
Which one had seen in some article?
With a buttressing great spectacle!
The Worst Sickness: the fought with wrong cure,
Not a single reply to it “pure”.
The Disease asking for a Bank Loan
Is a demand for calls with your phone.
Darkness falls into endless sleep
Ego spawns, grows to overleap
This dark enemy gloats with glee
A silent death I shall be free
Demons expose the tools of use
With great happiness, self abuse
As if to be an open quay
A silent death I shall be free
Angst of worried despair and grief
There is no end nor no relief
Torture oozes from this emcee
A silent death I shall be free
To kill this ego deep inside
My focused mind becomes clear-eyed
Filled with peace, joy and so much glee
A vibrant life I shall be free
Context
Be like water - still, calm or move rapidly with momentum to bring fresh life.
Even the egotistic ocean of wild seas soon settles to be greeted by the warmth of the sun.
Poetry Contest: Kyrielle poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
Date:09/12/2022
1 original, poem on the theme of .............
A KYRIELLE ABOUT WATER
4 verses
2 couplets per verse
8 syllables per line
a common denominator
eager, calm, procrastinator
all those hoping to be greater
take on the ego deflater
self aware, in tune and clear-eyed
the completely bonafide
abruptly lost, quiet,tongue tied
embarrassed, trying hard to hide
silent, conflicted, filled with doubt
almost escaped but can’t get out
upset, angry, ready to shout
cannot help but let feelings out
poets and suitors, who speak thereof
hell below to heaven above
shallow, first, true or just sort of
every one a seeker of love
There is no critical mass for ambiguity.
At this time, we are a little aside of ourselves
so we must constantly check our watches,
pause whatever we are doing in order to catch up.
Ambiguous margins have shifted
and that which was once out of sight
is now almost here, we see it
either as a rushing loco of craziness
rolling down mind-tracks,
or as a sublimity of yet more obscure forms.
This inexplicable need
to scribble off-kilter poetry on the clear-eyed air.
When I was with my love
I did not fear the blows of fate,
nor the poison in time's chalices,
nor the heatwave,
nor the snowstorm,
neither the news of war's snake that bites,
when I was with my love.
I could reduce war to the sound of the drums,
be brave without any vice, and torture that
lies in the wait, like cat in the bag,
when I was with my love,
I was the daredevil who ran the show,
twisted hate to love in bloom, the devil
of misfortune and abuse into peace,
when I was with my love,
I stuck my head in beehives
and my hands in God's sleeves,
or in rabbit holes, admiring
those minions' accomplishment,
when I was with my love, clear-eyed
and glued to faith and optimism,
my eternal delight,
when I was with my love, I
laid siege to love's firewall,
questioned nothing, happy as a light footed rabbit
scanning the meadow, oh how I wish I was still
with my lover.
LION
She was upset, beleaguered and beautiful
(in a wholesome feline kind of way)
He saw her problems as recurrent and swift,
maneuverable, agile, hostile, a little bit mean
Her call for assistance was not a helpless
appeal for a romantic deliverance but a clear-eyed
call for a partner with skills, an blunt attitude and
enough of a heart, who would want her intact
when the dust cleared away
“Will you be with me?” she asked
“I am your lion!” he said, his mane an unkempt
mess, his fangs still concealed, his black-rimmed
golden eyes now more alert to the savannah beyond
“I was hopeful” she said, as some of her problems,
seeing this discussion, began sliding from cover
to find running room…..
Down from a prospect, acclaimed
As that clear eyed
Of a Reisling grape
On the french side
With the local product spilt
Adds, dare I say
What of its sparkle
Gives life to bay.
Jaundiced Eyes
Jaundiced eyes covet past tense masquerades
In crypts where yellowed brittleness recall bitterness
Where glassy-eyed failures suck truth dry -
Vampires with addictions
Distorting graveyards at the altar
Of introspection
Like green-eyed monsters
Grasping
At monetary dust of renunciation -
As thirty silver coins of delusion
Smash against a field of potter’s headstones
Of mummified expectations –
Snake eyes coil to strike
Festering bones of rose colored bifocals
Framed with near-sighted prejudice
In cock-eyed bloodied clarity distorted
Prescriptions,
Opaque, ochre tinted corrections
See beauty as bloodless crumbling petals
When black holes of envy blind side the mindful
Blaspheming the self-evident
In catacombs of blind spots
Where the battered armor of rightness lies still
Awaiting revelation’s softly spoken new light -
A perpetual whispering
In humility's tears restoring lenses knowing the need
For a baptism of clear-eyed focus.
6-25-21
Contest: The Jaundiced Eye
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Pebbly scree slides and crabwalks
inside a dim dunk of fog.
The cragsman should not have climbed,
should have waited for the sky to clear its eyes
but anxious to reach a height that day
he took the Arimathea way.
Beat and disorientated,
falling down while still upright,
the press of a remorseless momentum
marches stumbling feet
toward an unseen cliff face.
Only this vaporous fear
swirling out of an open mouth -
a chill wraith invading every thought.
Beyond the funk
numb ears dimly hear someone
following.
Boot heels wedged into the rocky scrabble,
sitting now on the cold stones,
the climber waits to be rescued
by a more clear-eyed self.
Pebbly scree slides and crabwalks me
inside a dim dunk of fog.
I should not have climbed,
should have waited for the sky to clear its eyes
but I was anxious to reach a height that day.
I took the Arimathea way.
I’m beat and disorientated,
falling down while still upright,
feeling a momentum sliding me over
an unseen cliff face.
I see only a vaporous fear
swirling out of my open mouth.
The chill hand of fate grips.
Beyond my funk
I hear someone behind me
Sitting on the cold stones, boot heels
wedged into the rocky scrabble,
I wait to be rescued by a more clear-eyed self.
Sub Categories
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