Long Absentmindedly Poems
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Over the years
some were carefully carried
tied up in tiny bundles
held tight against the heart
While the other
more awkward ones
were pulled behind in a cart
like so many precious parcels
taken along for the ride
But a few fell
and rolled astray
off by the wayside
along the way
Some were missed
right away
with heartaches and tears
While others were
eventually missed
after some years
And some not noticed at all
I see people now and then
rummaging around
by the wayside
for what they've lost-
Some with long, sharp sticks
poking, prodding absentmindedly
collecting debris
Some on hands and knees
with brush and trowel
excavating so carefully... but-
Most of the time
the wayside is no place
for happy reunions
Often what was lost
if it was, indeed, of value at all
will not still be there
after some years
but snatched up and carried away
with care, by another who
saw its worth
Or degraded past
the point of repair
until what was lost
can never be recaptured
or replaced
Or sometimes what was 'lost'
simply wasn't worth keeping
in the first place
but purposefully discarded
cast off like old garments
too uncomfortable to wear
Relationships too heavy to bear
tainted by disrespect
dishonesty, neglect
subtle streams of unkindness
ever-so-slightly visible envy
marking their faces
like red flags
But the idea of
something having been lost
is powerful, and nags
at our hearts 'til we forget-
these things and their cost
yes, we forget-
Most of the time
the wayside is no place
for happy reunions
It has been a rough week.
Monday was dog-eared and dozing.
The world ended on Tuesday -
so not a great start.
Wednesday, not surprisingly,
did not know how to break the news.
The planet carried on being essentially global
while millions of people seemingly not to care
that they were no longer there.
There were many afterlife tragedies,
rumors of leaky unsustainable beliefs,
suicides were tried but to no avail.
Everywhere there were catastrophic failures
of restroom facilities.
Thursday dissolved quietly
unwilling to confirm or deny its existence.
Those still able to crawl to work
did so in their dreaming skulls.
Friday absentmindedly tried to begin again
then remembered.
The few who thought it might only be
a cosmic PowerGrid blip
were assured by ghostly astrophysicist
that the world would return
and apologized for all the fuss.
However, as happened,
the weekend really was the END.
171 E Swedesford Rd,
Unexpected positive experience
with regular totally tubular
gnarly patron first name Maureen
hmm... if only this burbling blurb
blog could somehow
be communicated - pro bono, cuz green
legal tender (mine) scarce -
anyway earlier
today December sixteenth
two thousand and nineteen
ah, my dog how serendipitously
I did germanely, modestly,
quintessentially shepherd convenient
rhyme with reason (hubble spontaneity)
three, five, eight, plus
this line thirteen...
(you get the idea, si?)
with eyes shut tight e'en
absentmindedly maneuvering "fake"
steering wheel, while zee queen
(think four foot eleven
spouse wearing spongebob
pajama pants) profusely thanked
police seeing eye dog approaching
and barking unforeseen
drove sitting on his haunches
on driver seat cop cruiser
smack dab nabbit
on our figurative docked toured tail
emulating crash test dummy
nearly didst almost careen
into our two thousand
and nine Hyundai Sonata
gave spouse faux paw high five
while flock of seagulls,
eagles, black crows...,
attired with red and green
holiday outfits suddenly appeared clean
(white hove out blizzard)
out of thin air nearly collided
with our self driving
automobile I amazingly
gratefully dodged tween
twenty plus miles north east
back to Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania, where this mean,
(once lean twice shy)
poetry (aye sup prose) writing machine,
now exuberant poet hoping
to garner (no bull lariat) keen
punny hush meant toward anybody
including trumpeting mujahedeen
hoot aches objection, which
courtesy self typing keyboard really
cool and groovy power
(smart thinkpad) reads my mind
pressing corresponding key visible
on Lenovo external large screen.
Start with the fracture -
the splintered thing lodged in your ribs
that no cough can dislodge.
Call it "inspiration" if you must,
but know it is just hunger
with a prettier name.
Next, the bones:
a rhythm tapped absentmindedly
on a diner table,
the half-heard melody
of a stranger’s laugh,
the way your childhood home
still hums in your teeth
when you say its name.
Now, the bloodwork -
verbs writhing like minnows in your palms,
adjectives that stick like burrs to your sleeves.
(Here is where you’ll bleed.
A poem is not a wound,
but the salt rubbed into one.)
Arrange the fragments on the page.
Watch them refuse to fit.
This is the part where you learn:
a poem is not a puzzle,
but the hand that shakes
as it forces the pieces together.
Finally, the lie -
the smoothing, the sanding,
the pretense that this
was always the shape
you intended.
Sign your name at the bottom.
Walk away before it cracks.
shaped like a boat,
a sock peeked out,
down under the rim.
a baby bootie,
a boot camp scootie,
befuddled the face,
bright red,
of a pale blond —
a mother on the side.
could have been undies
lining the sailor cap!
waterlogged laughter.
sea of despair.
however... i showed her up,
dereliction of my polished shoes.
barely an adult,
sneakering to hide
in the head,
luckily placed as a guest
in the gatehouse
and not out on my rear guard
or thrown in the brigg
for my lack of attention to detail.
the blond carries her family in a seabag
— not allowed —
can’t find the other sock.
9/3/2020
All In A Day Poetry Contest
Sponsor - William Kekaula
scootie means child that is between the stages of crawling and walking. Here I’m using it as a baby’s sock.
sneakering is a play on words as I had absentmindedly put on my sneakers
(A throw-back piece, a breakup poem from high school)
What a lonely, peculiar, eccentric figure I must be. A girl, in a garden, crying at an iPad, in the dark.
Earlier, at school...
It was a clear spelling out, like steel cuts thru fruit.
As he spoke, he looked down and away, his gorgeous face blank and indifferent, as if I were wasting his time or he was talking to a child needing an obvious truth taught quickly.
When he finally looked back at me, I saw no pity in his impersonal, hazel eyes.
I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I needed time to contemplate the universe's new laws.
Can a girl just suddenly die of heartache?? because I was sure my heart had stopped, locked and frozen.
Finally, I gasped in this impossible new air—the force of it made me hold the cold-iron stair railing—the game is rough.
He's so—male—all chase and careless passion—intelligent teaser, a skilled steersman of excited climates... Oh, you simply have no idea.
And now he was, gone—still there physically—but gone to me—as if he'd transformed into a hologram or had begun to orbit some other sun, he just...
"You made me feel special." I said.
I had lost my balance on this faithless and unequal world, where heaven so cruelly punishes desires.
"You made me feel I mattered, such a favor." I said, absentmindedly, as I turned, and went back up the three steps into school.
I don't think I looked back at him as the door closed. After all, he wasn't there anymore.
I think he called my name, like a question...
.
.
Song for this:
Still Is Still Moving to Me (with Willie Nelson) by Toots & The Maytals
Helpless by The Cleaners From Venus
I want to be
A part
Of your safe haven
Where I fill in
The chair next to you
Surrounded by your family
I want to see
How your face lights up
Making jokes and telling stories from work
And when you laugh
Your hand
pats my thigh
As our legs
Are intertwined
Underneath the kitchen table
I want to see
Your reaction
When I blush
After your mother
Asks what I like
about you
I’ll place my hand over yours
That are on my thigh
And I’ll tell her that
“He has shown me
That life can be
full of color
That a man’s hand
can be more
Than just a weapon
Cause when he drives
He absentmindedly holds mine
And kisses it
While I’m continuously glad
All the windows are down
To block out my heart racing
He has taught me
That simplicity
Holds more weight in our mind
Like how I have memorized
The creaks in our floor
On Friday nights
When he makes dinner
And I’m swaying my feet
From sitting on the counter
Or how I silently adore
Every move he makes
And try to hide the smile on my face
With a glass of wine
While wearing one of his old t-shirts
That now smells like me
He repeatedly has shown me
That hearts
Don’t have to falter with jealousy
Amidst the whispers
And constant smirks
From my past
Or the desperate beckoning
From girls
With lip gloss smiles
Cause he has pulled out
The chair next to him for me
In his safe haven
Where my blushing laughter
And stories from this household
Have created connections
He always entwines
his legs with mine
With his palm up on my thigh
Waiting patiently for my hand
Despite ever present
Scars on my left wrist”
And his mother can hear
the warmth
The thoughts covered in color
In my voice
Every time
I speak of him
Lisa was carefully pulling a strand of cotton candy off a paper-coned “barbe à papa” - winding it around her finger while absentmindedly gazing at a carousel. She seemed hypnotized by its white horses, trimmed in gold, with their brassy red and blond manes, as they hopped, like slow-motion rabbits, in circles beneath wreaths and garlands of colored lights.
My watch jiggled me awake, mid-dream. I was bemused. It took me a moment to orient myself. I groggily pushed the sheets off and performed a big stretch. It's Monday morning, I think. “Alexa, what’s today?” I ask, to be sure. “It’s Monday, April 25th,” she says.
A beautiful, if cloudy spring morning was going to bloom on the other side of my jacobian glass windows - any minute now. At least according to my weather app. “Alexa, good morning,” I say, to start my rattling, sputtering, steampunk sounding coffee maker.
College time is warped, measured more in deadlines than minutes. There’s no plan other than your class or test schedule and let me refresh you on the rules – there are no rules, I’m free to do whatever I want. I actually chuckle at that thought.
College is transformative but there’s a hoary sameness to it. Read, discuss, review and test - wash, rinse and repeat. This morning is reserved for test review. I have a final this morning - well, sort of.
Some classes have a quintet of tests instead of a big midterm and nerve-racking final. It smooths out the stress, but you still have an almost forensic exploration of ideas, and you want the answers queued-up, ready for easy access.
I quickly washed and donned my workout-wear. A glance at my watch told me I was right on time. I’d loaded my shoulder bag last night, with my book, highlighters, my phone, Air-Pods and a water bottle. I grab it as I head out. I’ll do my review on the treadmill.
Anna opens her door just as I do mine - perfect. We’re off to the gym.
Her face assumed a distant air,
A strong veil of old sadness.
She was relatively still young.
A butterfly in her prime of life.
Yet she felt heaviness of heart
That only age could explain.
She had seen him with other girls,
Younger butterflies than she.
Handsome as he was,
He was an attraction in the town.
Suddenly she realized he was free,
And began to notice her as she walked in the public garden.
He saw her as a butterfly, flitting from flower to flower
But he never stayed long, she was convinced.
She smiled, a sudden change of brightness.
He would realize she was not so old after all.
Her face was smooth, an evanescent of age
And wrinkles. Her eye glimmered with mirth.
Afterall wasn’t she as beautiful as any other butterfly?
Perhaps he would ask her out. Would she accept?
It would not last, she knew him too well.
Too many butterflies for her liking.
So, she’ll decline politely and show him the door.
It did not take him too long to ask her for a date.
Absentmindedly, she gladly accepted.
Many many years from now on a busy morning,
suddenly for a moment Mallika my name in your mind,
it will force you to stop and look at the sky
and from your heart will come out a deep sigh,
memories of love,
suddenly so fresh like a 'dewed' morning rose
remembering your lost love again
absentmindedly you will touch my last gift with moist eyes,
"love thy name is eternity"
your fingers will follow this line on that bone china vase,
I know time will go slow though tears will flow faster
and I will be nowhere
near you "before the next teardrop falls",
only my memories closer,nearer to you,
happy,joyful,cheerful,pleasant days
when the moon rose in the sky just for us,
will these glimpses of happy days wipe tears from your eyes?
If not,if you are still running on empty
just listen to my words floating in the air,
"love thy name is eternity".
© kash poet 2012
===================000===================
Placement: 5th (June 2012)
Contest:Mish-Mash
Sponsor:Tracie
RULES FOR THIS POEM (HA HA HA HA...enjoyed the challenge)
===========================================
Line 1.. must have 13 syllibles
Line 2.. use the name of someone you love in this line
Line 3.. must rhyme with Line 4
Line 4.. see above
Line 5.. can only have 3 words
Line 6.. must contain a palindrome
Line 7.. use the title of your poem in this line
Line 8.. must rhyme with line 3 & 4
Line 9.. must be one of your favorite short quotes
Line 10.. use the name of a country in this line
Line 11.. 5 words in this line must rhyme
Line 12.. use only 6 syllibles in this line
Line 13.. Add all or part of a song title to this line
Line 14..use a synonym in this line
Line 15.. use 4 different words that mean the same thing in this line.
Line 16.. you cant use the letters A D or L in this line
Line 17.. Use the words happy and eyes in this line
Line 18.. the words 'running on empty' must be used in this line
Line 19.. must rhyme with line 12
Line 20.. Use a line from one of your old poems in this line.