THE PERIMETER
Leaning against the fence
that divides me from them,
I gaze outward into the
landscape I’m destined to roam.
Behind me, inside the fence,
are sounds of laughter and music,
sounds that don’t exist here,
sounds that never existed here.
I wish I didn’t hear the sounds.
Though I know it’s hopeless,
I turn and start climbing,
but it happens again like
so many times before.
I climb—the fence grows taller,
I climb again, it grows again.
I climb no more, it’s useless.
I can’t get in there, I never could.
I wish I knew the reason why.
Outside the fence, in the perimeter,
is where I’ll stay, obscene rabble
cruelly shunned by the insiders
proud in their narrow virtuous views.
Out here is lonely freedom—
freedom to think,
to feel,
to create,
to live,
unbound by fetters of respectability.
Out here is where I belong.
Father forgive us for being forlorn and falling
Father forbid us for continuing in our fractured and failing faith
Father forgive us for being on a Pharisaical frequency, our felonistic fealty
Father be firm in fermenting the old form and forming the new form
Father help us from faith to sight, to stand still and from fumbling and flight
Father thaw the frozen chosen, free the former and ford with the free
Forgive us all for forgetting to forgive family, friends and frisky foes
Father fence in the fiendish of all foes, frown at our flash and Flemish giant holes we fancy
Father forgive the frantic and fatalistic fray, pray tell Father don't falter
Freed from our sins by Jesus our Friend, Founder and Forever Fiddly
Father under Your feathers we can fly freely over the frame of Your fields
Father freeze our fleeting feet, flesh out the futility of fake fossil flack
Father fix our philosophies and our philandering, our fantastic fudging of facts
Father finally [and again] forgive us our frequent fallacies of faltering finitude
burnt orange leaves on vines
cover a fence in autumn
spiderweb playground
a rippling field bends
tall cornstalks dance head to head
wild rhythms of fall
eerie sounds at dusk
send a tingling chill of fright
first cat fight of fall
I Am Known
Space:
endless expanse, eternal, inexorable.
Time:
Unknowable, from unbeginning befores, untill unending tomorrows.
An ache in my mind,
A weakness in my knees,
A dread in my bowels,
A tremor in my hand,
A widening of my eyes.
I move myself from point A……to point B.
Nothing else can I control but Me.
I draw a margin; fence in what I can...
THE CHALK OUTLINE OF EVERY MORTAL MAN.
Where I begin must be defined.
Where I end debated by the wise.
Utilized, understood, unknowable, unearthed.
Enter: ... examined, excepted, eulogized ... Exit.
Planted, placed, positioned, pushed, pulled, PUT.
A single grain of sand; one lonely star; a tiny blade of grass; who knows who you are?
One of the many billions of microscopic seeds sown,
But the planter is Great and I am...
...Known.
Cry is greatest shield
In the midst of oppression
A fence in the field.
A sonnet
I sat on a stone fence, in flat agricultural
landscape, trees been planted around farms
to protect from the North Westerly wind
I had collected shiny pebbles in the stream
only to find when the stones dried they were
not shiny anymore, but dull like pebbles are
A man and horse came walking up the track
shoulder to shoulder, like two old friends.
Can the horse run fast? I innocently asked
No, he is very old now, like me, he smiled
can I pet him? The man lifted me up so
I could pet, the horse looked at me with eyes
of slaves, who no longer dream of freedom
What's left, the love of a kindhearted man
The calendar says spring has arrived
through the window the sun shines
Outside the weather does not agree
But I still ride the fence and look through
the narrow slit between my hat and scarf
looking for signs that the world might be changing
I don't think spring in Montana can read
In the morning
on the grass
pretty,
colorful,
fragrant flowers
I don't give on eye light
Three-leaf clover: happiness: grow enough
in all affairs
cross the fence in search of
four-leaf clover: luck in happiness,
life passes
Darkness pushes back like waves
time to quiet down around me
give up and sit down
putting my knees up
supporting my chin with both hands
my eyes look down
the four-leaf clover:
the unhappiness of happiness
hiding under the my toes
To let me learn happiness
four-leaf clover was
on the spot.
The hens from our small, urban farm,
Had wild idea, caused great fright:
Escape their pen, come to no harm,
See a show, without a blight.
With feathers ruffling at benight,
They made plans and added some smarm,
Darkened room, their intended site,
The hens from our small, urban farm.
They marched single file full of charm,
Crazy chicks, on a daring plight,
Ignoring grumbles from their tharm,
Had wild idea, caused great fright.
Forged ahead and ready to fight,
Broke their fence in one clucking swarm,
Accomplished task, without desight:
Escape their pen, come to no harm.
Sodas in beaks, seated disarm,
Screen flashing, their eyes all alight,
Snacks in wings, no need for alarm,
See a show, without a blight.
A hot buttered popcorn, their right,
They'd wielded fowl mettle from dorm,
Hid their combs to avoid incite,
They also did get their wings warm,
Small, urban farm.
March 16, 2023
Double The Fun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
The Autumn sun shone with golden magic
The warmth of the embrace was seen from afar
As I stood along the fence in the valley below
Inside the house are tales akin to tragic
A son had volunteered, never returned from war
The brother, when burgled, lost a limb & elbow
The mother took a job in the town's law practice
Came home too tired, to enjoy bird or flower
Tend her husband, then disabled son in back bungalow
This is the story of every house, of Al & Beatrice
Clark & Diane, Everett & Flo, by year, month, hour!
The house glowing under God's sun, hides tales of woe
The lusty limbs soon grows pale,
the youthful vigour wanes,
thy charms is time bound,
Those sockets soon grows dim with age,
shadows are no substance,
see this hollow stream of life,
soon the beautiful face burned and scarred,
Time mocks all struggles,
and this borrowed breath,
quits the dwelling of clay.
immortal soul, this is not Your resting place,
Two Paths on thy Path,
leading to eternity.
one to the shrill screams and shrieks of remorse
the other to the Bosom of the Resurrected King.
There is no Fence in this Choice,
This decision is deliberate,
Mortals are choosing now.
The Cross is the Path to Life.
That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life. John 3;15
The morning brings a moment
frozen in time. Your heart is still within thee.
I can count a dozen one less or one more
of angels that protect and surround me.
Given the time to ponder and weigh the atoms
that bind me together. I’m left to wonder the
Marvels escape and I’m in for cold stormy
weather. As for the questions that bereave and
lament, seldom do answers come calling. My
situation has me high on the fence, in a
moment I’m hopelessly falling. Gone are the days
we smiled to trick people into thinking we’re
winning. I’ve got a mind and the matter is
thick, as for good times they’re now just
beginning.
The old dirt path that led to home
Familiar surroundings all overgrown
The home, now a shell of what was once
The picket fence in disrepair
Lay where it had fallen, needing care
A gate that welcomed family and friends
Lying on the ground, rusted hinges unable to hold
Lift the gate and place back in place
Touching the gate, strange feelings emerged
The feeling when old friends meet once again
Stand and stare, tears appeared
Children once swung on the gate
Sat on the ground and exchanged stories
Talking to the gate as old friends would
If seen by others they would shake their heads
Lonely and sad, their thoughts as they journeyed
Approach where once stood a magnificent front door
Walked into the ruins as done many times before
Looked around searching for clues
When did all this destruction take place?
No answer, just creaks and groans
I hear you, I hear you, my friends of old
A gentle breeze appeared as if called
Sitting once more, back leaning against a wall
Drained of memories of long ago.
I never expected you to come to Australia first
Still with the appearance that I am familiar
I must travel across the ocean back and forth
And you? I wonder how could you come here?
I saw you climb the fence in our hometown
Up to my ears and blowing your horn
Then you asked me if I was afraid of
And I said: I like your beautiful song
We used to play hide and seek in a woodpile
I pretend that I don't know where you're hiding
You can't wait to stick your head out of the pile
You tell me you're right next to me with your song
I see you in this foreign country unexpectedly
Did you travel across the ocean to follow me
We meet in these wild fields when melancholy
The joy alike seeing relatives you bring to me
I always feel the coldness of the world
Many things are inconvenient to say publicly
But my heart has been filled with your love
When I need some real "friends" so eagerly
We know "friendship" already too many
The definition of them is confusing me
The Illusory "friendship" is hard to rely on
Only you, Wild Petunia, by thousands of miles
You come here to stay with me
spring
This is a beautiful day,
the sea-breeze is softly embracing me
and I think of a bush that grows by the wayside into my village
only angels can spin such a bush for us to enjoy a day like this.
The finely spun bush stays for a few days but take off a nightfall
not to be seen again before next spring.
The rose bushes are hanging over the fence in a symphony
for the eye and aroma.
Yes, spring is here, a time when everything is eternal before
the cruel burns the landscape yellow and dry,
and we dream of the sea.
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