[Poet’s Note : this is a wry autobiographical memory written in traditional pirouette verse viz. 2 quintains, line 5 & 6 repeat, which is the toe turnaround. I wanted to write a narrative of a weird syncopated vignette, when I was knitting a pink mohair jersey at the time of my imprisonment. I reduced the narrative to a pirouette. When in prison, one of my interrogators was knitting the EXACT jersey in the exact colour & exact wool ! ie. in the final analysis, (in retrospect) everything in human life can be reduced to a pirouette, a turn-around dance ! ]
knitting a pink jersey
mohair with cables fine
to process flying thoughts
political activist
south africa turmoiled
south africa turmoiled
security police
came with casspirs and cuffs
interrogation chamber
police knit jersey pink
~~~~~~~~~
contrary to popular religious belief
our universe was not created in a week
the universe did not spring from nowhere
spewing out planets and breathable air
that which constitutes the totality
has forever defined reality
difference lying within the constant changes
which evolution by any other name is
this world was not created for humankind
we adapted became physically aligned
to survive the environment our planet provides
what is possible becoming the ongoing guide
humans forgot their place within being
only themselves they now seem to be seeing
fortunately this universe does not care
if species is self-centered and unaware
that not one condition is ever permanent
including the so-called human experiment
no matter who or how long faith denies
fabricates larger, more intricate lies
self-righteousness and all consuming prayer
realty destroys it layer by layer
coming down to final analysis
existence shall always be all there is
wearing
blinders we don't see the big picture clearly
we remain lost in a blinding pogonip
never finding our way out
of its dense, misty blanket
akin to
looking at the world
with jaundiced eyes, especially when the world
is no
clearer than
besmirched lens
keeping us from entertaining
novel ideas, seeing
situations from another perspective
such close-mindedness
does beget cynicism in
the final analysis
a celebration of blissful ignorance
to see things
as they are
we must stay awake and keep our eyes open.
Suzette Prime Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Syllable count: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, etc PLUS a philosophical statement
Date written: 01/28/2021
A lesson in grammar
In the final analysis
is it a lesson in grammar..?
Most all of us have
lived and believed
in the objects out there..
And we have been
much less interested
in the subject in here..
However..once in a while
signs of a shift seem brewing..
The question arises:
Subject and object..they
seem entangled..one seems
one of a coin's sides..
Experience shouts..but
subject/object strikes back..
until it doesn't...!
Make life a zero
Give pieces away
From the core of nothingness
You still have life full.
Drink a drop of divine elixir
You have the void filled
With the only one who gives.
Life zero given away in bits
Remains life zero till the end.
Life zero encircling purpose of living
Becomes life full in the end.
You aren’t depleted giving
For you can’t empty emptiness
You can’t get filled getting
For you can’t fill fullness.
In the final analysis
The arithmetic you solve
Would always be positive.
Your zeroness isn’t incompleteness
Because you are complete
With divine fullness of the absolute
From the beginning in nothingness.
August 26. 2017
Human Street
God will have his grace as we walk down
Human Street in a direction only heaven
knows.
Final analysis of life is something
only God knows. The last freedom,
freedom from life a part of it.
With up lifting spirits we shall go as
others walk down human street in
a direction only heaven knows.
Human street is where we all dwell
and don’t you forget it for there are
those who must ask where is it.
“Beyond Reason”
Myth and reality,
The language of dreams,
A vision of god
Wrapped in creation scenes.
Myth and reality,
A visceral truth,
Unified dogma
A centrifugal spoof.
Scattered and atomized
Mankind searches
For an integrating structure
Bestowing meaning and purpose.
Methodological limitations
Chasten and humble.
In the final analysis
Ideologies crumble.
Challenging was the journey,
I walked with you these years.
Sometimes light and care-free,
Sometimes etched by tears.
My soul was soothed with music,
My head replete with talk.
Then in crept trepidation,
When into the dark we walked.
Integrate the voice within,
I know I heard you say.
It's time to live one's perfect value,
Is now written on my slate.
In the final analysis,
At the end of the day,
You showed life's fullness is not black or white,
But in the richness of gray.
My journey is far from over.
But the path I now travel alone.
For the way is no longer in darkness,
But with a light borne of having grown.
Political Propaganda the scycle isn't stronger than the hammer
Putin I can't stand you Obama is just a robot
Abbott not only is he happy he stands out a political flu
An epidemic I hitting u with the finest military intelligence
Pre final analysis baby I bleed blue but I'm red I'm true simper fidelis
And as we make progress the Army prospers my baby's safe inside my heart now
The way the anchor hits you it's sorrow
It's the dregs of my cup I drink to the bottom
It's being betrayed it's done it's the tide it's the siesemetic waves
It's sleep paralysis and I keep sea lions in palaces where victory is sweet
Like her society is prefered like her talents are
I'm channeling the SEA but I'm not challenging you
Superior Espeniage Agency secret surveillances
I paint it SEAL green the evil I counter it all till either
I'm dead or giving hand signs to SEAL Teams and SEA Lions
Declare A Truce
Don't know if we really should mind,
When someone has many axes to grind
In final Analysis guinea pigs we become
After hearing beating of her drum.
Religion and politics are poison these days
And what people do when they will praise
Their God in ways we might not understand
They might even stick head in the sand.
About all of the screaming and loud noise,
How you go about making your choice
Of other poets and how you want to address
And affect on them when you do impress.
Belligerent attitude it sure appears to me
And there must be a conflict with equality
Why not give up and say what is the use?
After attending our Poetry Revisited meeting and
one of the poets was hung up on anti-Semitism.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
Come to conclusion by declaring a truce.
In the final Analysis
Destiny !, – she seems desperately to want to shut the gate.
She has been fencing in her garden – locked out, is this my fate ?
She has been offered opportunities to know me and my dreams
but nothing of my desires does she want, or want to know, it seems.
I’d love to see the sun setting, reflected in her autumn green eyes,
to lay with, the night long, to become conscious at dawn, to the sun rise
from her beautiful face, feel the warmth – suppressed – it could bring
to this aching heart, this alone soul, - my world – that makes me sing.
The pain, the heartache, much to great !, to live with this desire
to live with the direction it has been heading – ashes from the fire
is what I feel – for I cannot, will not pay for what is not meant for me.
The price is too high to pay for a foundation meagre, to high the fee
for a blank canvas, a painting without images – really – as I see
it, from these eyes, blinded, in what does not come from the heart.
Expectations, trivial matters, - pursuit of – is no place to start
a journey, an adventure down the rocky road of life, in life’s cart.
B. J. “A ” 2
January 23rd 2007
Plenty of nights sitting at the bar
drinking shots of Mr. Daniels
with pints of Black and Tans",
I'd be surrounded by patrons
all familiar strangers,
I've known all my life.
a drink in front of me and I admire the amber color,
not for long,
a cigarette burns in the ashtray... it's smoke spiraling in a curve and
it could be Thursday, but maybe not.
What difference does it make, in the final analysis,
I'm on my way to the state of.... I don't really care,
and to that mission I've accepted,
to survive the anguish that follows me,
like a shadow on a dark night in my soul.
Plenty of nights I get to this point and I think,
maybe the next drink will do it,
or maybe if I could just get away as far as I can,
but then I know,
I have to bring me,
wherever I go.
Dried Up
Time – Mother Nature – guiding forces of the Grim Reaper,
that guardian Angel, that patient gate keeper.
Autumn leaves, clothed in reds, browns, yellows and gold.
I, a man of experiences, of age – this life has grown cold
in the warmth of the sun, days that are kept fair
- under blue skies, in my crown of white hair –
in time – callous – laying in dark shadows, to wait,
to watch it all crumble – in hand – my fate,
as it is for all, - skeletal remains - as all turns to dust,
as all, in the end, in the final analysis, must
in order to set free - for the soul to be –
all, as all reaches out to become a part of eternity.
Life’s great, glorious ship, set adrift in that black ?, sea,
is life’s journey, what lays ahead for you and me
as we move on into – that question - what will be,
for us, consciously, never to see.
B. J. “A ” 2
September 3rd 2004
(Hidden pitfall; judging a Poetry Contest)
I like to approach
the final pass
at morning sunrise,
after a long restful renewal.
This was not that morning;
awake at 2:00 AM
baking cookies by 7:30.
On the fourth cup of java
crispy peanut butter crunch
wades across my tongue,
floating downward
in a warm, brown stream
to settle in fat cells
on waist and hips
as the spoken words
cross my lips.
(Hidden pitfall; judging a Poetry Contest.)
I like to approach
the final pass
at morning sunrise,
after a long restful renewal.
This was not that morning;
awake at 2:00 AM
baking cookies by 7:30.
On the fourth cup of java
crispy peanut butter crunch
wades across my tongue,
floating downward
in a warm, brown stream
to settle in fat cells
on waist and hips
as the spoken words
cross my lips.
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