Gravesend Thom Gun
was journo's son
An existentialist penman to be
with eligaic touches so free
told, I’m …
purveyor of a pen
drowning in the anguish of the heart …
bulletin:
love - not always love
love - always pain
always -
all ways …
wherever, whatever, WHOever the
soul divides for,
consumed, one day …
lost to time’s bitter casualty -
forever’s coda,
postscript of existentialist id …
not an iota
escapes the darkest of fates
ALL is impermanent
and sorrow, the outcome …
in contention, then -
pray, how moans the sea
if not broken on a reef?
how chants a catbird
if not mourning for its mate?
how drinks the earth
without heaven’s weep?
and how bright a sun, if not immersed in
the bitter, unforgiving black of space?
please fear not, that ache -
those throes of casualty are but
the ripples of passing on love’s expanse -
those prayerful pangs,
the precious payment for
life’s dearest …
so, if that blessed abyss be
the stead of my demise,
embrace it, I shall …
and if those briny beads of the
eye are the only coursing for my ink,
so be it …
there are far more poisonous
potions to waste words …
upon.
there is no going back the innocence is gone
life as we knew it will never be the same
scarred from fear and loss of loved ones
shaken to our core that we are not invincible
inhabitants of the world survive a global attack
behind closed doors we face our conundrum
we’ve had the time to take a long hard look
revisit existentialist values and priorities
watch in awe how our neighbors react
we’ve redrawn boundaries in the sand
i have the outlook of an aging babyboomer
never more grateful that we got to enjoy our freedom
in the sixties seventies and eighties ~ nothing like it
the call for peace and harmony, how the lovin’ was easy
a simple life satisfied with a pair of blue jeans and a guitar
till we rectify the present we can relive the past
while finding ways to make new memories
one thing for sure is that gratitude is strength
stay cheerful ~ things could always be worse
be patient ~ things will definitely get better
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~COVID 2020~ 2020
AP: 3rd place 2020
Submitted on July 10, 2020 for contest STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (8) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - Honorable Mention
walking waiting for
nothing but walking
can't decide, just do,
actions mechanized
briefly burnt out, ai!
the end is the start of
something else (some
one break this box)
You were the mystery of Being:
son of agnostic, himself atheist
and you became creative fidelity
in your philosophy of existence.
Later converted to Catholicism,
you were advancing ethical axioms
having consciousness
that you can materialize or annihilate values.
In your immanent introspection you observed
that the man is a derived being tending to
the primary being of the Absolute
and you became notable Christian existentialist.
I accidentally let one loose
One two, one two,
It's all up to you,
One two, one two,
Find the spiritual truth in all you do
One two, one two,
Find yourself and be renewed
One two, one two,
Your essence is a special brew
One two, one two,
You're unique and that's so true
One two, one two,
I see the existentialist within you
One two, one two,
I saw as your individuality as it grew
One two, one two,
Your spirit flourished because of the soul food
One two, one two,
Soul food is gained from self and truth
One two, one two,
Shine the love and light that manifests within you
One two, one two,
When one shares love it soon becomes two.
Being authentic is the key
not trying hard to be tricky,
live life with an open heart
get yourself a mindful restart,
discover the existentialist you
see yourself from another view,
not just standing outside the box
but smashing it to pieces while standing on top,
manifest a consciousness shift
open up a paradigm rift,
that shakes your thinking quite a bit
and wakes you up to what reality is.
If we were trees, there would be no wars,
but silence in the forest.
Drones would not be there,
but only birds.
If we were trees, there would be no births of children,
no one to record in the fifty thousand books.
Schools would not exist, or churches,
or that house beside the brook.
If we were trees, Jesus would not have
come down to save us,
and a tree would not have
turned to be a saddened cross.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inspired by "If there were no trees, there'd be no more wars", from
the "Non-existent Existentialist Memes" website.
2/20/2017
Contest - Your best poem in the last year
Sponsor - Silent One
1st place win
Loitering pain; existential in its core
Evicted; eradicated at child birth
From her core.
Self queries, examinations of the soul
Replaced by sense of duty
For the community
And offsprings, she adores.
Existential (ist) angst left her core
Without so much as a goodbye!
Without a farewell!
A feckless lover
Would have treated her
Fair.
Now she pieces puzzles together
Of galaxies omniscient;
For her five year old
Now she sews rainbow buttons on
The hems of pink tutus
For her little girl.
Now she talks about glittering mermaids, Rapunzel hair
And velocity of planes!
Occupations are not
all useful, like when Sisyphus rolls
and nobody cares. Even Camus
can’t justify my love
of quantum or calculus, when it’s burn-lonely
rolling out the integrals: I integrate
myself into a human
-ist Existentialist here’s the point -ist
theory of why I am why I am
and when I differentiate my parents
chide me. I gather the pieces again.
Life secretly offering fleeting moments of happiness… but the underlying sadness creeps through; the grief of human condition always seeps through from the unconscious. I always imagined it as the watery liquid separating from the unctuous and the solid matter of the brain as a pervading force that relentlessly pursued my happiness.
I am reminded often that this life offers no protracted security of contentment only taunting bits of joy.
Is that what we must satisfy ourselves with then? We are to be grateful solely for the passing seconds of joy.
In this life we are offered only an empire of dirt and the subconscious encumbered with the knowledge that we are merely destined become part of that empire.
This is no illusion,
Time is never still.
If you were blind before,
What hope can the future bring now?
In this time of loneliness,
There is nothing but segregation.
Nothing more than the existentialist,
What hope can the future bring now?
Now that we stand guarded,
What will the new dawn hold?
If eyes can pierce a beating heart,
What hope can the future bring now?
In this time of bitterness,
Of exceptional cruelty and hate.
Could not the wise ones say,
What hope can the future bring now?
For scholar and learned man alike,
Can spout truths, facts and figures.
But amidst the pomp and spluttering,
What hope can the future bring now?
Rise then and be heard wistful,
No one has our stance and holding.
We are comfort in a sick world,
We are today, tomorrows little dream
deep in the forest, a shot rang out
at least
I thought it did
or
someone
wanted me to
go to
line one
~
The deadliest hang man
Pierces like a knife
Into the deepest chord of ones soul
It burns one up like a molten magma
In preparation for eruption
Oh I fear the consequences
of falling into into your entrapment
That deprives man the sanity
Of making sane decisions
Its controlling power is blinding
It makes its victim snap without
Recollection of ones action
What an existentialist concept
That ruins a man without recollection
who's the romantic, which one existentialist...
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