I had overeaten.
So I reached inside myself
And pulled up whatever could be pulled up
From strength that I could muster up
I labored long and hard
And eventually brought forth
Snow capped mountains
And sky scrapers dignified by the rays of the sun
And the tallest pines with cones intact
And stars draped with clouds, silver lined
And song birds with half-sung melodies resting on their beaks
And butterflies with awe-inspiring wings, extended and poised for flight
And rainbows that captured the very essence of past promises.
Exhilarated and exhausted, I wept
Not due to any emptiness or lack
But due to the incredible, unspeakable beauty of the lone rose
That remained anchored to my innermost parts.
I was spent but at peace
Categories:
labored, allusion, anxiety, conflict, confusion,
Form: Free verse
The Empty Page
It sat there at my student desk
In wait of task to tend.
Write a poem, the teacher urged,
Your thoughts to paper, penned.
Intently, I perused the sheet,
Pale white and yet unmarked.
It lay there teasing my first move,
“Don’t leave me unremarked.”
This paper, college ruled and prim,
Well-bleached and full of aughts,
Stared blankly back at me to help,
With all my labored thoughts.
I searched the room for any clues
Of how I was to learn.
The clock was running faster now,
No time to wait and yearn.
I sat there squeamish and unnerved,
Too weak to brandish pen.
It was my first time close to death,
Too late for where and when.
Surely, all the class can see
My torment and refrain.
I’d rather have a spelling bee.
I’m circling ‘round the drain.
In looking back these many years,
My eyes were outward bent.
The chalkboard hung erased to black.
My mind, abridged, was spent.
But time has made its mark on me,
Halfway granting one old wish -
To find that poem in myself,
And give to Mr. Nish.
Robert Farrell Waltrip
Categories:
labored, 12th grade, age, allusion,
Form: Rhyme
I have labored so long...
now past half a century...
and, like a very old bird,
I am still at my song.
And, like the lark
in the meadow,
I have little to show
for all of the work I have done.
But my throat was constructed for singing
so I have sung with no thought for tomorrow.
I have lifted my voice
just like all those who've gone before me...
and I will continue to do so
till my skin goes suddenly cold
under the sun.
Categories:
labored, 12th grade,
Form: Rhyme
“After obsessively Googling symptoms for four hours,
I discovered 'obsessively Googling symptoms' is a
symptom of hypochondria.” Stephen Colbert
LABORED BREATHING
cough is heard - a hack
that causes one to wipe brow
with thermometer
in creases of worry lines
hoping for sweat not fever
3/4/2020
Categories:
labored, sick,
Form: Light Verse
Parental labor days and nights,
memories and contemporary echoing traumas
of declaring Hippocratic Commitment victories,
"No one got much hurt today,"
"Non-violent communication" prevails,
verbally and non-verbally laborious,
locally and globally viral,
monoculturally and multiculturally,
on our best days,
But "not violent" is such a negative
empty
cold
humorless LeftBrain way
to say,
to communicate,
resiliently resonant communion's
articulating
heart-felt possibilities.
We have hope and faith potentialities
for cooperative spirits of life and love,
And more retiring
shadowy natures of competitively incorporated death
and corporate loss,
But only one ZeroZone uniting Holy Nature/Spirit,
not only co-invested in non-violent life and love,
but further committed to solidarity
of resilient uniting life as resonant universal love,
Where Fear-of and Anger-about
past lose/lose competitive trauma
cannot repeat their either/or
exclusive
devolutionary Names.
Categories:
labored, anger, earth, fear, health,
Form: Political Verse