Grappled Poems

The Eulogy 1994 to The End

I am here for a short time 
Sadly luckily my time has come. 
I am not sick or anything. 
But death is close to me all at once and suddenly. 
I felt his breath all around me
I fear I am dead; I gave up on me. 
None of you  really did believe in me
You see, we are gods; once that ceased 
I did not exist
I am ashamed of dying and leaving you alone 
I am ashamed but tired death is sitting at the throne 
I am okay I am  thankful 
I tried and failed
I am certain I tried I did my best
But darkness is here
There is no light at the end 
My body was nothing 
I abused it to the end
I believed in happiness 
I never met her; I am dead  
I never lived here, but I wrote some poems. 
It was such a short time
I longed for love. 
Some people loved me. 
But myself I wasn't in love. 
I struggled and grappled. 
For life after death
I died a long time  
There is nothing to cry. 
I died a long time ago; there is nothing to try.

Tilting Decks

The year I became seasick
I lived in a bungalow on the edge
of a wilderness moor.

The sky and land
grappled together
for supremacy of my soul,
Inner dogs whined,
my eyes were portholes
where cats watched
the turbulent dance
of garbled mind waves.

I had to leave a wife,
but knew I could not swim,
couldn't drown, nor float.
I stumbled across high wind-woven gorse,
ghosts crying through my hair.

in the end,
the crashing sound of breakers
smashing against cliffs
made me vomit, I staggered
choking still
into a pathless night.

A cloud garden had to
wither and bloom,
toes had to learn to grip
ever shifting sands.

Time whittles,
it sharpens the bones of your throat
until you can consume
the stale and the fresh,
while riding a moon crazed
rocking-horse.

The Sound Of Thunder

At the first sign of the morning light
I hear the thunder roar!
It woke me from my sleep as the bed grappled my body
Not to be scared, I laid there motionless 
The lighting flashes through the window
I closed my eyes while I was listening 
Waiting for that moment to come - then all of a sudden 
Ka Boom!!!
Oh, what a sound!!!!  It drops your heart to the floor
While you are so scared, but be wanting to hear that sound some more.

Mother In-Law’s Tongue

In this woke world I’d soon be hung
If I had had your spiteful tongue
How ironic that its wagging
Only stopped when you were gagging

And as I tried to grab the shard
Of chicken bone that was stuck hard
I grappled with what I could grip
And when you flinched… I heard a rip

You spasmed like you’d just been stung
And left me with your severed tongue
My sense of humour must be black:
Your tongue is mounted on a plaque

I’ve kept it from my wife and kids
To keep my marriage off the skids
So they don’t know that though you’re dead
A bit of of you is in my shed

So there I sat; my hide of choice
And thought about your nagging voice
And when your tongue began to jiggle
I won’t pretend it made me giggle

It made a move like licking lips
And flicked a few saliva drips
It looked ’round with its probing tip
Then sensed me… and it gave me gyp

Dancing Dragons

I thought, back then,
that what I felt for her was love.

Jack said it was just lust
and certainly nothing less.

He had a point, she stank
of pure pheromonal passions,
Together we had an alchemy of ardor
and odor.

We grappled at sultry flesh
and made it speak.
There were no soft whispers,
howls and growls
were our feverish cravings
our furious devotions.

Jack said:
he could hear us thrashing together
clear across town,
that we were always on fire.
Even strangers saw us
through a blood red sexual prism,
their eyes darkening
as erotic dragons danced before them.

Jack was a bit of a poet.
I was simply a raging animal
caught in a love net,
but of course,
Jack already knew that.

Animating Innate Vibrance

                          Eighty-six billion neurons reside       in your brain, every single thread entwined.
                  But they are not connected like the       links grappled together in shackled chains.
          Between any two neurons lies a place       where whispers are shared, and secrets are bared.
        And the name given to this space bet       ween, where two remain two, but be as one:
 The synapse. That space where the slow       wind blows through which flows the willow’s woes.
     That stage between words on a page,       unwritten thought connecting writer to reader.
 That break in syllables, echo of silence,       unspoken sound binding heart to heart.
That flicker in time between two choices,       unseen destiny wedding dream to dreamer.  
      That pause where inhale meets exhale,       unfelt breath linking life to death.
                That silent spark born in the dark,       liminal light joining day to night.      
                       Between this step and the next,       unclothe the parts of your whole:
                       Where is it, O tapestry of threads,       you find the synapses of your Soul?

Grasping Nightmare

Sleepless every night,
My mind's deprived of the light.
Even in midnight,
I can't sleep tight.

Sleep's always in delay,
It feels like a replay.
Can't rest even for a day,
I feel like my body starts to decay.

My eyes are heavy,
But I can't rest idly.
Every time my eyes shut, it's clingy,
It feels like a demonic entity.

When my eyes are open, I just stare,
Hoping that from the dark corners no one would glare.
In looking further, I wouldn't dare,
It could bring different types of nightmare.

In the darkness, shadows loom,
They prefer the cold wide room.
Waiting for small spec of gloom,
Once it's out, it'll be your doom.

Taking my breath like asthma,
Like I'm grappled right in my trachea.
Just like sleep apnea,
But worst it affects me like insomnia.

Sleeping was my rest,
Now it's a difficult test.
To face the things I detest,
Gateway for my inner strength to manifest.

I wish sleeping was still a cure,
That rest where everything feels secure.
When sweetdreams can still allure,
Instead of nightmares you'll have to endure.

When was the last time you dealt with your conscience?

When the question was asked in philosophy class, 
I just grappled with the meaning of "conscience".
When I asked the girl next to me what it actually meant, 
she gave me the example: "When you for example see shoes in a shop and you want to buy them so bad but they cost way too much. So you feel bad. Then you don't buy it, but you also might feel bad that you bought it"
While listening to her I looked out the window, 
asking myself: "Am I not confronting it the whole time?"
I knew very clear, 
that the whole time I got reminded by you.
But I painted on it talking about a different person and situation, since people who you know were looking and listening.
Even though I manipulated it well,
my mind was shifting through two parallels,
which made my voice shake, 
my face turn red,
my vocals get raw, 
not talking on point, 
looking left and right.
Since I was still talking about you.

Teacher:"do you have a example?"
My hands grabbed my knees, repeatedly saying:"hm.."
While I know the specific one real well.

Completing Infinity

And comes the time, oft many sought with blinded eyes that squint into the dark, searching for that in tight grasp with faithless hopes that it be found. 

No grudge shall I bear as a traveler his mug, that holds within above a cracked below, a drink for the voyage whose starting is the ending to the eye and mind. 

In the open sky I shall hide all that has been, is and no longer morrow. 
To remind a scribbler to forget friends and foes. For the mind’s cask shears upon such thought of great appeal. 

My time.
To no longer will, but bend, or even break. To be deaf to all, with only hearing for one with a deafening whisper. As the tongue exits its cave, loud be my scream as the bewitching hour. 

Search no more. 
By your follicles, you would tell as words deny you might… of this scribbler you once grappled in sight. 
As he dissolves in his dry ink, I beseech thee again.

“Search no more”.

the elevator

have you ever grappled with despair
not in imagery, symbolism or portrayal.

I mean, have you ever felt the elevator drop
the watery weakness that extenuates breath
a depth of fatigue that makes lying on the floor a burden
an aching pounding in your chest,
the broken-glass dryness in your throat
the gritty ache in your eyes
that makes you want to close them forever?

Struggle no more, leaden limbs,
free the weary weight.
Eyes that struggle, release the light.
The body begs to no more fight.
In a blur of sluggish thought,
I whisper sleep's sweet name.
The will has dropped.
The yearning stopped.
I’ll rest on that distant shore.
.
.
Songs for this:
Nessun Dorma by Sarah Brightman
Caruso (Live at "Pavarotti International" Charity Gala Concert, Modena 1992) by Luciano Pavarotti, Aldo Sisilli
Pie Jesu by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Sarah Brightman & Paul Miles-Kingston

Herod Heard Of Jesus

Antipas was one of many heirs of Herod the Great
Morally and civilly, he had fallen from his state.
His kingdom, a collapsed castle, he couldn't reinstate.
Sinning with brother's wife, shamelessness had become his fate.

Like raindrops on a bison, did John's censures sadden him?
Like venom, the wrath of Herodias filled her to brim.
The extant of Baptist, she thought, like a twig she should trim
Didn't she, as a queen, have the right to amuse her whim?

By the fame of Jesus as though life-threat, Herod baffled.
His human and animal instincts between them battled.
Curiousness and qualm, like flatware, within him rattled
Has John resurrected? Physique and Psyche fell fear-grappled

Does the sun fear the darkness? Jesus fulfilled his mission.
To build his realm of love, did he need Herod's permission?

Family Own land

"I remember the land. I remember its people—their ways, the folly of their mentality. I never encountered the term ‘depression’ until later in life. I grappled with hatred and bigotry because they’re diseases akin to cancer and COVID-19.

Do you recall the carefree children of the eighties, their hedonistic pursuit of drugs, sex, and intellectual freedom? It goes like this: I don’t think of labor; I don’t think of work. Labor implies toil, and if it’s not self-employment, it’s slavery with meager wages from the man.

I remember the land and its people—their foolishness weighed on me. I remember the departed, how those trees outlived them. The language of the trees whispers freedom and the sound of human longevity, thanks to a matured land’s kindness.

The waste land we leave behind, even without spoken words, tells a story of abandonment. What you might see as a grassy area, I perceive as a court date—a battleground where families fight for ownership. Illegitimate children vie for their share of the land. Even unspoken, it holds worth.

How do you come to terms with yours?"

Feel free to adjust any part of this revision

Sun Room

Sitting in the sun room 
At a nearby hotel 
Reading a new book 
All was going well

Ringing, the phone danced 
I had an incoming call 
“Who is this?” I wondered 
And answered it I chanced

The heat travelled through the glass
My sweaty palm grappled on the phone 
An anxious voice was on the line
“We need you quick, come home!”

To the car I ran
And fired up the motor 
Onto the road I glided 
Like an old milk floater

Back at the house
I had arrived
To see an ambulance
“Your mother’s died,” the medic said 
A moment anachronous

The Pain

They grappled her till she stumbled 
and stepped at her as she mumbled 
about the pain of being an innocent casualty 
of some people's own insecurity. 

Rain of slaps hit her back 
as she tried to parry their attack. 
She wondered what was it all about. 
They laughed at her as she blacked out. 

Thinking about her tragic strife 
she decided to take her life. 
Under the shade of the gray skies,
there she met her untimely demise. 

Was it really that funny 
to see someone in agony? 
How many young girls must meet their demise 
before the great lords open their eyes? 

February 16, 2023

On Christmas Day

"Travel light" Santa said to me as I grappled for all my most   
treasured belongings. I stuffed them all in a duffle bag, then with the silliest 
of grin on my face I said, " Ready"  
The ride up was exhilarating to say the least, and the landing well 
lets just say I don't recall getting there...
It felt like I was placed in a big glass bauble filled with tinsel,
joyful elves and little miniscule hourglasses containing reflective 
light particles that flew out into the atmosphere through 
smokescreen windows, tinted with pink magic glass.  
I was tired from the trip so Santa led me to this little room made of logwood, 
then he handing me a peppermint hot chocolate and said, " good good dreams, my girl " 
What did I dream you ask ? Well, its much too long to retell today, 
you will just have to wait until tomorrow,  when its Christmas day !

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