Long Adolescent Poems
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I live in a rose-tinted town
bowing mainly to White Western skies
bleached of blue blooded color
but also of dire Eastern dawns
with smoky red skies,
warning farmers and gardeners
taking and giving nutritional cover
under bad-blooded weather
on our way to further apart.
I live in a NorthEastern place
replete with geriatric grace
yet less mindful of holistic medicines
less conscious through holy meditations
less green ecoschool wholesome
with cooperative administrations
of home
and families
and neighborhoods
as wholesome 7-Generation multihoods.
I live in a public space
directed by private embrace
toward trusting love of all four dimensions
all eight lifetime resurrections
From infant to WinWin child,
child to WinLose pre-teen,
pubescent to late adolescent,
where U.S. culture seems LeftBrain stuck
between delayed adolescents and too young adults,
young adults toward mature WinWin multiculturists,
voters listening to WiseElder leaders,
WiseElder leaders
longing to conjoin CoMessiahs
and Bodhisattva PeaceWarriors
and PolyCulturing Yogis
and MultiCulturing EarthScientists
and PolyPhonically inclined EarthArtists
and PolyPathic EarthEducators
and EarthFirst Mentors.
Researchers and Designers
of full-octaved trust,
if for no positively healthy reason,
to avoid hatreds of anti-trust
and ambivalent angers
seeking secular mistrust
and equivalent fears
finding infinite misery
pathologies.
I live in a rose-scented town
where three polluted rivers conjoin
worshipped by LastNative gamblers
reweaving our vapid ritual bows
within all four fractal revolving directions.
I live in a rose-fading town
aging while watching southwestern drought,
at risk of growing Eastern coastal
as Northern blizzards of chaos
compete with Southern hurricanes and tornadoes
of flooding tsunamic competing complexity.
I live in a rose memory town
filled with ghosts of LeftBrain dominant climatic pathology
rising up to restore RightBrain with Left
peace from within,
settling down to withstand
capital punishments
ego-justified retributions
without rose-tinted restorative glasses.
Carefree days and endless nights
Great surprises and delights
Dreaming of my future goals
And what story will told
Watching stars on favorite shows
Wishing that I had a role
Reading books on faraway lands
And envisioning my plans
What would my destiny entail
Will my fortune be derailed
Will I achieve enormous heights
Will my visions work out right
Will I live in exotic places
And hob-nob with the famous faces
Will I have a great career
And have loved ones that are near
In my mind I’ve painted stories
Of cherished dreams and splendid glory
Will my wishes then arise
And appear before my eyes
If I use my imagination
And dismiss my limitations
I’ll achieve my coveted goal
And my future will unfold
I reminisce, I miss
the sound of our giggles as we lay -
my sisters and I – on our beds
whispering into those sweltering summer nights
until inevitably, my stepdad
yelled up the stairs at us to go to sleep!
I would put my face right up to the fan
which loudly whirred inside the window
at the foot of my bed.
Those were the nights of easy sleep
and easy dreams.
Little was my stress; large was my joy.
And oh, those summer days
when we awoke to no more school.
My siblings and I rode bikes around town,
or sometimes we walked miles -
while sucking on popsicles - to the city pool
where we’d splash around carefree all afternoon.
Friends also monopolized my adolescent life.
Oh, those fun slumber parties
at which no one ever seemed to slumber!
Games, the music of our time,
and chit-chat about boys consumed us
late into the night.
Picnic reunions with church folks or with relatives:
always the sight, smell and taste of homemade meals
I recall: the wonderful homemade potato salads,
fried chicken, burgers and hot dogs on the grill,
Mom’s homemade Sunday pot roast with mashed potatoes . . .
I could go on forever.
But back to the night I go -
of those hot but lovely summer firefly nights
where sleep and dreams came easy
I reminisce, I miss.
March 28, 2021
for the contest of James Edward Lee Sr.
Now for A Brian Strand July 8 Poetry Contest
Is he crazy,
Is he lazy?
Is he charming,
Is his behavior sometimes alarming?
Is his house clean,
Is his tongue sharp and keen?
Just remember he is only a man,
And you must love him the best that you can.
Is he intelligent,
Does he sometimes act like an adolescent?
Does his skin sparkle and shine,
Or is he covered in dirt and grime?
Is he a thief,
Does he often cause you grief?
Has he ever committed a crime,
Or stole a kiss and not ever given you a dime?
Just remember he is only a man and nothing more,
And you must love what you hate sometimes, even if he is rotten to the core.
Does he love you,
Like no other can do?
Does his mind change as quickly as the wind,
When someone questions his loyalty is he quick to defend?
Does his every touch leave you wanting more,
Can he twirl you 'round the ole dance floor?
Does his every kiss make you unable to speak,
Does his every whisper make it unable to breathe?
Just remember he is a man and that is all he can be,
Like a caged bird you must set his heart and soul free.
Did he give you his heart,
Have you the courage to not tear it apart?
Did he ask for your heart in return,
When he asked did your desire burn?
Did he ask you to be his wife,
Will you love him for the rest of his life?
Always remember he is only a man trying to love you the best that he can,
And, I , for one will always love and cherish my man.
For I love him the best that I can,
This boy, that under my tutaledge has become my TRUE MAN!
My grandfather
seemed wise with years
walking his rural spiritual path
in a relentlessly white
Christian dualistic church
dividing sinful nature
from sacred spirit.
He counseled:
Do not mix
religion and politics.
I wonder
how he would feel
about this mix
of sacred and profane
if he were to meet
my out lesbian activist
senior UU minister.
Clearly
we have mixed up
our religious community
within our local political culture
When we called
this gendered clergy person
we did not ask her
to leave her politics
at any sacred
ordained door.
On the contrary
we recognize
and celebrate
that she
and we
are politically empowered
and disempowered,
enlightened
and unenlightened identities
with naturally spiritual experiences,
family traditions
and theological
ecological
and un-ecological agendas.
I wonder
would my grandfather notice:
If calling an out
feminist lesbian
as our minister
mixes religion
and politics,
against his well-meant advice
So too:
Calling a straight
white male
as his first
and second
and third
and fourth
and fifth
and sixth...
pastor
was also mixing politics
and religion
and sexuality
Also against his own patriarchal
not feminist,
monotheistic
not polytheistic,
monoculturing
not polyculturally resilient
healthy loving advice
Especially for a family farmer
valuing crop
and income diversity
who started out
as an adolescent
relying on organic horsepower,
spirited stallions
and mares
capable of peak experiences
and making ponies
and fertilizing fields
with sacred regenerative practices
for exercising empowering agency
Giving birth
to future
naturally religious
politically enlightened
and unenlightened
gender role identified bodies
Yang strong
and Yintegral flowing
wu-wei admixtures of secular politics
and sacred enculturing religious
integrity
Monotheistic awe
and polytheistic wonder
and panentheistic integrity
and atheistic questioning experiences
cooperatively inclusive
Resiliently polycultural
political and sexual
dynamic communicators
within enlightened tribes
togathering
across cooperatively empowering species.
Born into poverty , unholy society , sobriety the key to my life savings.
Daddy can't put the cider down ,Mama smoking that nicotine like her life depends on it.
She left with a man twice the age of granny never to be seen again and the result was a fat belly.
He quit school thinking he was cool, oh what a fool!
Stormy weather , the boat started shaking , sank six feet deep only to be revived by the divine love from above.
Took the right turn and it was my turn.
Built a legacy big enough , the next generation of my tribe will never starve that was hard work , dedication , understanding life and it's fluctuations and realized perfections is a pigment of humanity' s imagination. It is okay to cry for laughter awaits on the corner.
Macadamized by politics . Choked by sin tax and hated for standing out, well...l kept calm and meditated . Never giving up , now a warrior in the face of injustice.
Born into poverty , buried in silver and gold. Crawled into Asha , walked with tenacity in my adolescent pocket. Grown into diamonds ,the pressure , the realization of dreams and the utilization of time.
Raised by faith. lucifer you lost! Victory is ours.
Triumphant!
Remember
you as a young adolescent
dancing with all seven or eight,
whatever,
chakras
hoping you were soulful?
Until your WinLose mother
handed you a book
proclaiming you as sinful,
a spiritual salvation Loser
and healthy body-nature Lost.
Keep dancing.
Don't become that disenabling UnWiseElder Mother
of dualistic Win natural health
requires losing spiritual wealth.
Keep dancing.
Become your most nutritious
and nurturing
WiseElder Dancer
with all seven or eight,
whatever,
chakras
Knowing you keep dancing
Left like LoseLose sinful
and Right toward WinWin soulful.
Keep Dancing.
Add some lyrics
as WiseElder WinWin possible.
JOY --- great gift springing from the heart of God
has made my babyhood bubble with mirth
to ripple along sweet glee’s purity
so cherished by family as treasure…
…Such exuberance thrives midst love’s nurture
enriching childhood albeit growing pains
advancing toward adolescent years
zest reigning over great challenges’ angst…
…As maturity paves way to progress
blest happiness wrought by Christ grips my soul
since His eternal life’s grant secures me
assuring freedom peace by pardon’s seal…
…With that offered vibrant relationship
my reached-out heart yields to divine changes
though struggling against carnality bouts
striving to please the Lord Who brings triumph bliss…
…Propped through the Saviour’s strengthening gladness
my faith constantly seeks for His favour
while surmounting rigours, causing distress
in prayer-communion’s sublime delights…
…When conquered by human nature’s attacks
my grieving spirit finds rest in the Lord
ready to lift me up with revival cheers
rejuvenating me from drained ardour…
…Ascending upward zealous service
I press on with fresh vigour’s fervency
fortified by the Holy Ghost’s power
grateful to “Rejoice in the Lord always*.”
*Philippians 4:4 Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, Rejoice.
February 15, 2021
3rd place, "Joy continuum" Poetry Writing Premier Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker; judged on 2/26/2021.
during the Forties
I was just a lad
growing up
was not so bad
Summer evenings
lengthened long
clambered trees
with birds in full song
across nearby fields
&over the brook
studying in nature's
real-timebook
scaled branches
for my egg collection
wild flowers
then pressed to perfection
fishing for stickleback
with jamjar and net
oftimes slipping
&getting wet
boys' club
in the old school hall
indoor hockey i
with a ragged ball
gathering conkers
on Chestnut Crescent
for annual contests adolescent
blue-paper fireworks
fifth November,
baked spuds
in glowing ember
around the streets
carol singing
boxes rattling lanterns swinging
indelible magic memoir
remembered scenes from afar
Year first Posted 2007
Though afflicted with severe
panic/anxiety attacks
suffering became manifest destiny
for decades housed née sequestered
in abominable barracks
(one common joe biden his time)
made debut during prepubescence,
ambivalent toward and quite lax
concerning mien kampf,
when adolescent/puberty at max
metamorphosis from boy
to man found me strongly in pax
averse to growing up
Anorexia Nervosa latched did tax
developmental height and weight,
whence this grown male did wax
nostalgic for his boyhood-
literally starved himself -
not quite to death,
or unconditional self-acceptance by peers.
Mine psyche felt ship
wrecked upon the jagged shoal
of abject apathy, self-injury,
and jury-rigged penury now a pall
duh, these psychological idiosyncrasies
perfect breeding ground to maul
and rent asunder psychic ground
for lack of pride slinking along hall
ways resonating with flapping wings,
his doppelganger exhibited gall
wherein yours truly remained
face down from a major fall
when both parents alive
(thine mum deceased
almost eighteen plus years,
when grim reaper didst call
now octogenarian widower pop,
who since this initial writing
passed away about
sixteen months ago)
espied sense to bawl
upon death ova
me mum, and sensibility
evinced inquisitive kindled
linked opportunistic quest
misunderstanding, avoiding
whirled wide web
as a young whippersnapper -
wait, that iz not awl.
Inform me if you wanna explore
additional tidbits glore
cuz long poem comprises more
lines offering metaphorical tour
within me body electric
akin to teenage wasteland
after internal near deadly war.