Long Accelerates Poems
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Those of us
who have had guilty pleasures
of owning valuable real property,
like a car
and rental property
and office equipment
Office buildings,
solar inverters,
and nuclear holocaust delivery systems
but not privately owned MBA degrees
or merely intellectual property
or more intimately owned emotional properties,
Those of us
who know the mixed blessings
of owning organic and technocratic fragments
of climate pathologized,
yet still breathing, planet Earth,
especially if taxable property,
have heard about depreciation of values
over their natural/mechanical life/utility
health/power time.
We might recall
depreciation of property value
decelerates more gradually as time marches forward,
barring any unfortunate head-on accidents,
flying and melting and fragmenting damage,
accelerating astronomical crises
eliminating long-term realistic health-wealth values.
Depreciated suddenly to total loss of asset value,
now a global junk-dealer liability.
Anyway,
just as depreciation decelerates over time,
appreciation accelerates empowering resilience
with time's enduring health/wealth cooperative life-experience,
Organic systems accelerate
robust cooperative integrity
over a deep learning nutritious multiculturing life-time
of Win/Win climax learning
deeply curving synergetic ego/eco-relationships,
Growing in good-humored co-investment priorities
for story telling and listening
to resonant fulfillment co-opportunities
Rather than continuing historic depreciated taking
and Win/Lose epic slow-losing ego/economic depressions,
Anti-systemic pathologies,
realistic predictions of global chaos.
Retributive injustice depreciations
slowly fade toward entropic disorganization,
just the suffering and loss opposite
of exponentially appreciative Win/Win compassion
Explicitly conscious
of living interdependently between and within
autonomously natural depreciative law
and appreciative open-systemic/spiritual
yang/yin multicultural
left/right psychological
self/other empowering
appreciative
spiraling
deep listening and wide learning order
re-mixing depreciating curses
into old-aged exponentially appreciating blessings
of co-opportune climaxing climates.
“We’re cleared for takeoff,” the pilot announced, “settle in, our flight time to Atlanta will be 9 hours.”
The Gulfstream roared down the runway and in a moment the tops of trees flashed by. We climbed quickly, and banked. Paris dwindled, the Seine became a string of blue, the world a patchwork of colors before we punched through a layer of hair-like cirrus clouds.
My roommates and friends were all a-chatter as we lined up on the runway but as we ascended, they grew quiet.
Thoughts of Peter ran through me and gripped me like a serpent. The last time I saw him he was dressed in a summer outfit I bought him - a short-sleeve, pale-pastel-plaid, seersucker shirt, kentucky-derby breaker shorts, pop color flip flops and a straw fedora. His sweet-face was all grin, he looked like a deck gillespie. Meow.
When I think about Peter, my skin tickles, my pulse accelerates, I’m confuddled. I think about the disturbance that moved through the air between us when we met. We were strangers, but a magnetic flux seemed to roll off him and break against me.
I didn’t let it show. I drew in, looked away and became quiet. What else could I do? Later, when I described it to Sunny, our meeting seemed like nothing. When I described it to Lisa, it sounded like too much.
Of course, my choices must be consistent with my ambitions, but I want Peter to come to Athens, so badly. He was a human placebo, for me, in otherwise stressful times. Now I want to be with him without school pressures - to see what that’s like - and get closer, a lot closer.
I don’t want commitment, but I’m saturated with desire. All I want is a fun July or August - with him. I seldom reveal the businesslike hardness I have buried inside. I want this and I’m ready for derp.
Peter worries - about money, about gender roles, social positions and what’s apposite. I don’t care about any of that. I want to give him a free month, like an amazing gift. He’s so male, so deceptively complicated, fragile and intoxicating.
I really need to think about this, and work it out - HA! - like I can think of anything else.
.
Slang
deck = cool
gillespie = hipster
meow = I want
confuddled = confused and befuddled
derp = anything and everything
TEMPEST
Twin limestone tors thrust up through valley floor
Like isles or icebergs in a calm flat sea
Deep green save where shear rock can hold no spore
To spawn in fecund niche a vine or tree
Midday and all is calm untroubled, still
In tactile heat, all movement paused, restricted
No hint of ought that might disturb our will
A landscape placid, as in paint depicted
But look to sky the seeds of change are sown
There, signs portend a transformation near
Those gentle clouds mere cumuli have grown
To cumulonimbus, thrust t'ward stratosphere
And therein is enormous might enclosed
Stored energy, that soon must be released
Unleashing primal power unopposed
The laws of Nature never to be breached
Now lightning flickers o'er far mountain peaks
Faint thunder echoes round steep valley walls
The breeze accelerates and chills to speak
A warning of the fast approaching squall
The charge in air: has swallows energised
To move from circling low ‘tween tree and house
Their flight plans now are recklessly revised
To helix soaring t'ward the threatening clouds
A steady light drum roll on roofs - sound train
Starts gently then crescendo ends the prelude
Announcing clear the now impending rain
Prodigious splashes transformed to a deluge
The waves of rain traverse our panorama
Gauze curtains drawn by cosmic stage hand's might
Relentless, recasting features as of dark drama
Familiar scenes are shrouded, hid from sight
Now random electric arcs flare bleak view scanned
Cacophony of thunder rules all sound
Awesome darkness and confusion on the land
All visual anchors cast in shade spellbound
But in this world each cycle must be ended
Perhaps reverse events that had us unmoored
The drama, soon is played out and expended
Peace, light and order gradually restored
Known reference points can once again be seen
The twin rock peaks come clear through rain-washed air
Clouds make fine-spun white wraps for hills now green
We're reassured by prospects known and fair
Is this chronicle an allegoric tale
Of human life not granted free of strife
Would we choose bland existence without travail
Or fain confront the magnificent storms of life
Climate change
is to unitarian instincts
as global terrorism
is to universal resonance.
Voting for Trumpian terrors
as a vote for change
to drain Washington's swamp
is one of the confusions of our ecopolitical lexicon,
allowing a pathological climate against healthy change
when we need a healthy climate for stabilizing
swamps in their best ecosystemic places
and capital city re-investments
in our diverse creolizing ecopolitical spaces.
Climate therapies urgently needed
for stabilizing creolic chaotic swamps
in their better and healthier locations,
presumably no longer to include Washington
or Moscow,
are therapies of 0-core bicameral mindfulness
and internal/external co-arising peace.
Budgeting and planning to invest
in more and ever more military offensive change
is not a healthy wealth of defensive strategy.
Calling military offense our strongest defense
does not make a terrorizing offensiveness
more politically or economically palatable climate choice.
Militaristic
nationalistic offensiveness
is to change our swampy climate of jingoistic cheap patriotism
by growing it into a fear-mongering Colossus,
not draining us out and in past Lady Liberty's beacon Promise.
Our commercial and commodified Trumpian cities
have sold us
what they have told us
we must industriously want to ecopolitically buy.
But, that does not change
universal and unitarian truths,
distinctions between climate health
and ecopolitical landscapes of pathology.
Selling climate change denial and ever more military offense
further accelerates our global climate of now critical illness,
which is unjustly the opposite
of climate therapy
beginning within each and every
0-sum WinWin polypathic heart
and nondual mindbody
co-arising internal
toward external
ego-peace informing eco-justice.
Climates change
therapeutic unitarian instincts
as global terrorism
scares the patriarchal pants off
naked universal-matriarchal resonance.
Under 65 degree starry, onyx blanket
Containment of quarter moon identity
A whimsically soothing song exuded
In muffled taps & Prohibition era lyric
In the distance,
Snow-capped mountains reflecting lunar clarity
Off its tips of freedom
As we lay on recycled steel hood,
Made in 1950s USA, when it mattered,
Her silhouetted fingertips released from my right arm
While insistently looking towards stratosphere’s vocal chord
“Can’t it be like this forever?
Oh, how I want to just make love to the stars.
Become one with Orion while riding
On Sagittarius’s arrow”
“What about our stars?”, he softly questioned.
“I’d like to be your never-ending shooting star.
To ride on blue moon’s comet, by your side”
Cricket whispers manhandled his romantic clef
Mother Nature’s afterglow, upon her ears, fallen deaf
Inherent waxy build-up from illicit tongue,
She pat his shoulders like a dog
Being taught his first lesson
Her eyes, still sky high.
“Sigh, I like how you think.
You’re such a nice friend.
You’re going to make a woman so happy one day.
I hope to meet a guy just like you.”
As her eyes sighed with a powerful lack of substance
Into the arms of Leo,
A slammed car door supplants the reverberation of the car’s V8 engine.
He confidently turns back the hands of time.
Reversal gears become his new tune
“If you get lost going home, follow the stars.”
As he pulls away with majestic, amplified lyrics
Of Whitesnake’s “Here I go Again”
Going down the only road he’s ever known
While she stands in fraudulent gasps of shock,
Looking back up to the stars in blank wonder
As he accelerates into a new page in his book
Closing his chapter with wondrous questions
“Why would I taste your starlight?
When you never believed in our constellation?”
©Drake J. Eszes
It’s good to gaze at the stars and make wishes. But, be careful what you wish for. For Earth has its own gifts…
While rummaging, mining,
and distilling me gray matter,
stoking mentality activates
oft time surprising me,
where unexpected novel
cognizance never abates,
I experienced becoming
linkedin with cosmic fates,
sans collective unconscious
soul of the universe,
and chanced to espy,
(albeit only a trimmed speck),
the spirit of William Butler Yeats
considered one of the foremost figures
of 20th-century literature,
where elan suddenly accelerates
though immediately abruptly stops
dead still in figurative tracks
utter disbelief accompanied
by shell shocked shyness accentuates
to remain stock still
suddenly feeling inadequate, inferior
immovable, insignificant...self doubt actuates
internal tussle, while
wise counsel within adjudicates
unable to convincingly
brush off devil's advocates,
which in no way, shape or form
successfully bolsters cockamamie idea,
floats and navigates fan to see, alternates
with bold prospect an emotional
paralysis immediately aggravates
anxiety as cowardice accumulates,
nonetheless pesky needling aggregates
maximizing far fetched optical illusion,
despite what must be hallucination,
this laughable wordsmith appreciates,
though many wildest dreams of mine defy
explanation, a feeble attempt articulates,
how dreamlike hypnotic stance captivates,
thru cosmic haze quantum matter assimilates
aura, charisma, enigma
rippling ethereal tore'n shroud
sensing, nursing, imbibing...
indecisiveness capitulates
wavering seduced mooring
temptation assertively celebrates
nonpareil genius among pantheon,
whose Eire rush grandeur circulates
thru time and space infiltrates
stimulating within mine off kilter crown,
where reverence circulates,
for long deceased Irish poet laureate,
his unseen presence amalgamates
vibrant tendrils of late
August author's grandeur effectively percolates
within and illuminates me with inspiration.
Five years
Slipping under
Falling deeper
So deep I couldn’t see the surface
So deep I didn’t realize I was sinking
It’s comfortable down there
Peaceful, if you could call it that
Nothing to feel
Nothing to live for or dream about
Simple existence in the ever-growing abyss
Just go to sleep
Wake up
Keep to yourself
Don’t bother them
Stay hidden
They can’t hurt you if you’re hidden
But it’s hard to hide forever;
They’ll come looking for you
Can they see me all the way down here?
I can’t see them
I don’t want to see them
It was them who pushed me in the first place
Peaceful
Maybe at first
But peace is a fleeting thing
I was numb, empty, dead inside
For five years
Emotion is easy to take for granted
But then again, it’s hard to miss when you can’t feel anything
The thing about sinking is that your rate accelerates with time
So maybe at first you only slipped a foot or two a month
But by the end you are slipping miles deeper between breaths
Not able to tell this blackness from the blackness that was present before it
Comfort slips away after some time in the abyss
Deadness is peppered with fits of rage
Fits of sorrow
And occasionally a glimmer of joy
A flash of a memory of the surface
Where the sun shines and the wind moves the trees
A spark above
Is it really there?
Is it my imagination?
Is it just my mind turning all this black into something else?
It’s just a trick.
And for a while, that’s what you believe
But how long can one trick of the mind last?
At first, the spark will only appear once
But then again
And soon months between sparks turn into weeks
Weeks to days
Grab for the spark
It must be real now
And after five years
I pulled myself to the surface
Reaching for the spark
To grab, and put it back where it belongs
To put it back inside my chest
But the spark is still above me
And now I just need a ladder
Beneath the hum of unseen wires,
A shadow grows, its reach aspires.
No fields of earth, no rivers free,
Yet lords of code claim sovereignty.
Their towers rise, not stone but light,
A lattice spun through endless night.
Each pulse we send, each word we weave,
Becomes the thread their looms receive.
No plow they wield, no goods they craft,
Yet wealth they hoard, fore and aft.
A silent toll, unseen, they take,
From every trade the masses make.
The market’s song, once loud and wide,
Now whispers faint, its soul has died.
A faceless hand, with cunning art,
Divides the buyer from the heart.
It maps our thoughts through glowing screens,
And molds desire to unseen schemes.
Each choice we make, it twists, refines,
To bind us tighter in its lines.
The toiler bends, the worker waits,
In halls where time accelerates.
No steady hand, no craft to hone,
Just tasks dispatched by drones alone.
The few grow vast, their coffers swell,
While most descend where shadows dwell.
A fleeting job, a fragile stake,
In worlds these lords alone remake.
Yet in this maze, a murmur stirs,
A quiet voice, though faint, endures.
The spark of thought, unbowed, untamed,
Defies the chains that go unclaimed.
For minds can meet, though walls divide,
And truths can pierce the veil they hide.
With tools they forged, we’ll carve a way,
To break the dusk and seize the day.
No lord can quell the human flame,
That burns to rewrite every game.
We’ll share the code, the light, the load,
And walk as one on freedom’s road.
Through circuits deep, we’ll find the key,
To loose the bonds and set minds free.
A world reborn, where none command,
But all may thrive on equal land.
Busses, cars, and airplanes, time flies so fast
minutes accelerates through the dial, small things lost to the past.
The world’s fragile treasures beg to be seen in a slower light,
simple things are fleeting indeed, when seen through the bug speckled glass.
The world is ever changing, clamoring to welcome defeat,
like a motorcycle running wild with the devil in the seat.
The earth spines through the cosmic winds, life is on a speeding course.
My view is slower, looking between the ears of a horse.
I see the madness and loss of freedom; the Bible reveals that’s the way it’ll go
when God is pushed away, rot takes his place, can’t be any clearer. I suppose.
They say, It’s better to close the eye and not see things so clear,
let it slip into shades of gray, like the shadow cast by a horse’s ear.
But what about the soldiers who fought the wars, so many paid the price.
What of a country that truants Christ’s blood and laughs at his sacrifice?
Concerning the little children, Jesus’s word rings clear
“He who harms one of these little ones there’s hell’s fire to fear.”
What goes into a man does not defile him but what comes out.
When the blind leads the blind, both fall into the ditch, that’s without doubt.
The downfall of a once blessed nation, like fools she leaves her borders porous.
I’m swaying away in ignorance, looking between the ears of a horse.
Romans 1:22 -Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools.
Romans1:28 And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge,
God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do that which is not natural.
Argentina's son, a lineage to immigrants
shaped by boyhood aspirations
diminutive left foot striker
taunted "dwarf" in childhood
his growth hormone deficiency
overcome through meds and workouts
a counter to foes physically imposing
Messi's daily slog of skills
agility and balance
slow grind of mastery to mesh the skills to speed
on the football field, Messi dribbles through opponents
pivots round defenders, takes an opposite direction
accelerates
de-accelerates
takes stock of field positions
awareness like a lordly hawk that calculates its prey
a kick triggered whittles through the air
the ball's stinging centre,
flight controlled
at a goal keeper spiralling to the ground
this FIFA World Cup champion
devout in faith
celebrates goals by a gaze upward
a pointed hand to the heavens
another field of his embracing
790 - Messi's career goals for Barcelona clubs and
Argentinean glory
football awards that roll on like credits on a movie screen
on field moves that burrow into memory
through the entanglement of limbs
Messi's footwork, like a dancer's gift
his sprints to fill the field with unheeding power
midst the bulging roar of fans
a homage to glorify the footballer
before he fades
to legend
Poem written January 4, 2023