Christmas lights were my downfall said the sorry cat
I thought I could string them, why did I think that?
They were tangled up from the get-go, it was not my fault.
I had retrieved them from a wicked witch’s vault.
those Christmas lights were magical, and mean in many ways
It took me sixteen years and seventeen extra days
to disentangle the lights; it was a chore beyond belief.
It took most of the best years of my life, said that cat, Beef.
there is no way to disentangle the jumble of ideas in my head
the unscrambling of this conglomerate would be my undoing
my imagination has tightened them, they are interwoven as linen
each piece a parasitic part of the rest of them; how to disentangle?
The thought of dissecting them in strips and stripes is overwhelming
a daunting task, I do not feel up to or worthy enough to attempt
We can do it! My muse yells into my head; she loves a challenge like this.
She begins sorting phrases and sentences as I prepare for a nap.
I often sit and wonder
why ancient man survives
Lacking all the gadgets
modern man and woman have in their lives
Why me I am an example ,
all the things I have acquired
Gathered all around the world
from countries far and wide
Downstairs there is is a sauna
doing what the sun would surely do
The slant board replaces
lying upside down upon a hill and there's a wagga too
There's a mobile phone, there's a computer
so we can disconnect
Physical engagement with our fellow man
it's wrecked
I've got picks, I've got shovels. I've got forks
to build a garden bed
Ancient man and woman just wandered
when they wanted to be fed
So how to disentangle
from this crazy style
It's a complicated answer
you are going to have to wait for a while
Footnote; Wagga our nickname for a Zen Chi Massager
You know how a cat is? The way it awakes,
how its eyes open, for a moment
not seeing anything,
how it blinks slowly
eyelids washing a mind
of anything but satisfaction.
Legs stiffen, stretching out,
paws opening and closing
as it arches its back.
Lithe sinews ripple under a velvet pelt,
its whole body a rubber band of pleasure.
I used to wake like that - almost.
This sleek, self-absorbed feline
who owes me at least
some cursory acknowledgment,
just slinks away without a glance
as I struggle to disentangle
my creaking form from jumbled bed covers.
It has prowled through the cat flap
probably stalking garden sparrows by now.
I make coffee
once more vowing to get myself a dog -
an old one.
You want freedom
Where tough times freeze
You entangle when love
Disentangle you the most
Where is trust killing you
When nobody is believing
Does it cause you pain
If it suffer your egotistic nerve
Will you still go on life
When no one at your side
You said you love me
And now you are not that be
You failed me, hoping so you change
But now promises you've made
Is now null and void
What life is there all therein
But ingratiate and ungratefulness
This deathbed is sweet tears
To never love again.
I envy the poets
The ones who can disentangle the threads of their thoughts
And smoothen them out on paper
Each word, each letter, each curve of their quill laden with meaning, passion and emotion
These innocuous traces of ink
Do not mask the fervour in the minds of the poets
I balk at their audacity
And admire their ability
I wonder, do their words ever choke them, as mine do?
Has their voice ever been swallowed by fear?
Do their ink-stained hands ever shake and their eyes well up with ardour as they put pen to paper?
Meanwhile, I yearn for the identity of 'This Sublime Poet'
I ask myself: Am I a poet yet? Or simply a writer? Or am I just someone who uses words to emote?
Do my poems have an essence? A hidden interpretation derived by reading in between the lines? Or am I just one among countless others who hide behind the artificialities of language?
Do I possess any substance or do I lack it?
Am I the seed? Or the husk?
Or am I the fruit? Albeit the one that falls to the ground, wasted?
I
Relationships tangle
In many good ways
But when we untangle
There's pain from every angle
II
The language made it easier
One good angle is spelling
Not in spells, or things darker, crazier
A N G L E can unravel for your ANGEL
III
Will you be God's angel, per Hebrews13?
The one with warmth, welcome, or a word
How else are we different as Christian
Unless we buck the trend, disentangle evil
peace of mind
peace of the peaces
i was looking for
i got named after that
my whole life got bore
now and then a question of reality
answers for thee self loosen ability
dark matters i chase i was with in
for the name tags of rent world pin
here and there, for all the Welfare
questing the mind if its all fair
in a world of if's hunting the barrier
every time i fall on my knees i look the upper
bigger than me, biggest of all
tomorrow in my head running for call
cut out the gut avoiding my fear
haunting dreams Disentangle them clear
here i sing the peace, collecting the pieces
artifact of them, my inner pleases
i draw pictures that made a man
dissing my desire for a longer run
peace for me, peace for you
lets hold all the pieces to hold on for clue.
on your way out shine no more feeling blue.
-----five minutes poem----
-----Ksanet Brhane----
i see her there staring
out past the kitchen window
with daisy print curtains
partly obscuring the sky
her eyes daunting amid the sunlight
shining deeply upon the beauty inside
i address her while undressing her in my mind
i stroke her cheekbones
and lay kisses upon her neck
so soft, smooth, supple and truly divine
caressing her demure deity
that's begging to unwind
the wind wraps her body
exhaling persuasions of mind
fingers frolic engraving wonderment
enhanced to the pressure inside
we disentangle
lost in a moment
forgetting time that has slipped us by
life has somewhat
calmed down now that
I’ve bowed out from the rat race
and officially finally now retired
I’ve learned to disentangle myself
from the merciless mundane madness
I don’t miss that old hamster wheel
forever spinning out of control
I’m now at peace with myself
I’ve become my own judge and jury
questioning my every choice and decision
to ensure all align with my master plan
the voice of my conscience keeps me
on the straight and narrow as time trickles away
ultimately I know I’m not really in charge
but I can at least be master of what I can
one day I know I will face my Maker
and there will be no sanctioned excuses
down to my core I’d want to be proud
of what I’ve done and become
AP: 1st place 2021
life has somewhat
calmed down now that
I’ve bowed out from the rat race
and officially finally retired
I’ve learned to disentangle myself
from the merciless mundane madness
I don’t miss that old hamster wheel
always spinning out of control
I’m now at peace with myself
I’ve become my own jury and judge
questioning my every choice and decision
to ensure they fall in place with my master plan
the voice of my conscience keeps me
aligned and on track as time trickles away
ultimately I know I’m not really in charge
but I can at least be master of what I can
one day I know I’ll be facing my Maker
and there will be no sanctioned excuses
down to my very core I’ll want to be proud
of what I’ve done and become
Read on air by invitation ~ June 5, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 1st place 2021
Submitted on June 2, 2021 for contest VOICE OF CONSCIENCE sponsored by UNSEEKING SEEKER - RANKED 5TH
caught in an octopus’ arms
rip tide of tentacles
underwater currents
the black ink indelible
syphoned protection
can’t see the circling sharks
in my cocoon of false shadows
a surreal embrace
suction caps in action
in surprise
that it is me who
holds on for dear life
a fairy tale because a dolphin
comes to my rescue
until I glow in the dark
disentangle my fear
make friends with an imagined foe
condense spray into light
dissolve and reflect on
what could have been if I
had not been at rock bottom
not caved in to the pressure
sometimes life sheds its meaning
in dubious squirts
allegories and metaphors
until you dive in murky gloom
and take a tight squeeze
decompress on ascent
accept inklings of surrender
16th April 2021
The September I met him remains etched in my mind
One by one the minutes rolling by ever so slowly
I sat in class awaiting an explanation that never came
I surmised he’d been a burn victim ~ suffered and healed
How could he now sit there so serene and nonchalant
Over my inner spiel I hadn’t heard a word he said
So consumed was I in wait with my unanswered questions
Then spending the second half of class feeling stupid
Regretting the meddlesome monologue in my head
It was three hours of my life I would never get back
Really ~ how was it any of my business?
This was all way back in those pre-internet days
Before google searches easily unraveled any mystery
For weeks he never spoke about the elephant in the room
It boggled my mind why I expected he ever would
In a short time I became enchanted with this man’s soul
Respectfully in awe of this cultured learned gentle man
A poet possibly a genius ~ he was ordained to touch lives
To shake and rattle foundations ~ disentangle paradigms
A transcendent grace exuded from his every word and glance
AP: 1st place 2026, 1st place 2021
YOUR TOUCH
is a gift swelled inside my nape-
wrapped up in words of
love that suffice my desire
for you ignite my body’s fire
i tie myself snug with ruby red ribbons,
gentle whispers enveloped inside-
make sure the silver bow is in its
place so you may open with blown
kisses and perpetual promises
you open me up-
soft lace overlaying barren skin;
i disentangle and fall into your arms,
you kiss me like the first and we melt
into the abyss of marriage bliss;
my love, it’s always been…
YOUR TOUCH
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1.19.20
Equus Ferus caballus bovinium
awing the Browsband, he sat upon the latigo Keeper
relevant scales
an occurance of a dynamic conjunction
the rhizosphere
in Gilib. He said!
sativa fabaceae and
Tataricicum
Fagopu esculentum
disentangle rhizosheric
those processes
Adda Aiia O' badia Obadiah!
he grinds the wheat to be meals
for the peoples!
biosphere, hydrosphere, pedoshere
sativa fabaceae, fagopyrum
tataricum
tataricum!
fagopu esculentum!
serendipitous
bovinious sandwichious, wheatous eatem's!
alpha draconis
bowich Chordata. The starched collar of my tuxedo shirt!
that these words are of the wheat
for the wheat
and buy the wheat!
the wheat for the peoples!
grind ye the wheat
to be flours for our bread
that the heels shall make sandwiches with bovine
Meatus yum-yum!
thank ye oh God of Harvest
the Sandwisch of Meatus!
the sounds of humming goodness!
he wears a tuxedo when he eats these fabulous burgers!
they are so scrumpsous!
,
thanketh thee!
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