Long Ambiguities Poems
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Me – Irish catlick working class:
mantillas, martyrs, Maynooth, Mass.
You – a literal Lutheran lass,
all pretzels, prenups, Mama Cass.
It never could have ever worked:
those ambiguities that lurked
were knees that, one day, would have jerked,
and we’d have wound up Douglas Sirked.
Your Nancy Clutter beats my Holden
(less Marlon Brando, more Karl Malden).
The pond we’re on was never golden –
winter white-out wiped out Walden.
I would have wearied of your sermons,
short Sheridans and shallow Shermans,
your Sophie Tuckers, Ethel Mermans,
poe-faced Pennsylvania Germans.
Ignore the stranger on the shore,
by Stan and Stella set no store.
Don’t give a damn what Della wore,
or Mary Tyler any more.
[REVISED 2024 April 04]
Shinar, some know as Mesopotamia, others as Assyria,
near the Euphrates River, a midday sun cast doubts of
a weakened shade made idle by the pause of its agile
host, named Nimrod, son of Cush, grandson of Ham,
and Noah's great-grandson. No sign of depletion, hence
the shade returns to motion.
Nimrod is the soul ruler of the land of Shinar, host to
several ancient cities, one was called, Babel. Scripturally,
Nimrod was said to be a great hunter, and that would be
the length of it. Jewish and Christian texts are not able
to agree whereupon Nimrod's entry into the historical
record books other than what has been escribed in the
scriptures of the Talmud and the Bible, albeit, elements of
foreign records have cluttered historical accountabilities
and further strengthened pre-existing ambiguities, thusly,
a genre of conjectures misleads, and misinterpretations,
have made authenticity and accuracy to remain divided.
There are numerous variances, such as those accounts
between Jewish and Islamic customs or beliefs from
generation to generation, concerning Nimrod's and of
Abraham's first encounter, from that of a subliminal
meeting of minds, to the simplicity of a gnat that had
overwhelmed the mighty forces of Nimrod's army by
entry into his brain's that affected his abilities.
The accounts of Josephus concerning King Amraphel
whom Abraham did battle in Genesis, was Nimrod. The
Tower of Babel was built by the people whom King
Amraphel, being Nimrod, had ruled, and by that being
such, gave rise to Nimrod ordering the building of the
Tower in Babel. The Christian Bible does naught mention
that other than he, Nimrod, was a great hunter. I
believe it would have stabilize Josephus' claims.
The time has come
to generate the retrospective
ambiguities etched in stone
perplexing to the underside
of the recriminations
sliding to the conservative right
The dance goes on
skittering and sliding
along shiny glass floors
powered by locomotive
puffing into clouds,
you gaze into space
Dreams of a more envious
pastoral speckle intuitions
of a well developed humanoid.
Beyond your wildest expectations
the illusion goes on
spitting, sputtering
in a steadfast manner
driven buy imperfections
of days gone bye.
You long for the resurrection
to circumcise possibilities
of a shaft driven turbo
turning to and fro
stifling transgressions
into a tumultuous radiance
blinding to the monstrous
aftermath of an illustrious
stiletto heal.
Golden Crown
Fingers maneuver as a vanishing sun radiates her solar majesty
Heartfelt improvisations momentarily suspended adverse reality
Raging notes racing toward heaven levitating exceedingly faster
Determined hands hammering insecurities sidestepping disaster
Weaving inspirational wisdom regenerate such spiritual harmony
Profound compositions elevate the integrity of human symphony
Revelations exorcizing ambiguities wearing an incredulous frown
Conquering all deceptions destiny searches for the Golden Crown
10/07/2011
5:21 p.m.
Aboard cruise liner:
Splendour Of The Seas
Venice, Italy
Look at that wee little boy,
splashing puddles in an Indian July,
Look at his little legs go, unaware
of the splotches,
landing like affronting fireballs
On the pillars of an Indian mansion.
The extolled pillars are too hollow,
to support the masses of the concrete above
Stains and graffiti reveal its appeal,
So the owner requests some white paint.
and their far-reaching hands paint each other's backs
But July is a good month to verify ostensible ambiguities
It's harsh rain may chip off even the enamel of coatings
and may disclose a blemished design
That would certainly displease its visitors
The wee little boy, however,
splashes a puddle of iridescent water,
water so clear, the visitors see their sharp reflections-
of a student testing their limits,
as both time and hope fall from an hourglass
of a woman dipped in the elixir of her 'pious' duties,
duties which then drown her in the sewage of immortal duties,
of a man who can never be called one, because he doesn't exist
because others care more about whatever is between his legs,
of a mother clenching her children tightly against their tender bones,
tender bones that feed themselves from the smell of chapatis in the shop next
of a father who shows off his pearly white smile to his wife,
while the rusted mirror on the tottering tiles tells that he just lost his job
of a wee little broken boy, manually scavenging and scavenging for food
This Indian July,
More wee little children splash puddles
on the pillars of an Indian mansion,
which they suspect is a kuccha hut,
The more they play relentlessly, after being tired,
I wonder if the mansion can bear all the rain and splashes.
Greenish black silhouettes of trees
sans the complacency
mystique in their conversation,
a stream of uneven triangular arcs
in commune with the lilac-grey
puffs of floating vapor
coalescing in rebellion,
scent of wild delicate roses,
a lover's temptation,
cascades of prismatic water
falling like emotions hard
then, mingling plan-gently
in the river of thoughts,
a lavish pristine green meadow
inventive in its own league,
celestial beads of a night gown
defying the theory of
existentialism,
then why stand petrified
by the fire lit by yourself?
a self fluorish of ambiguities
and repine,
if discern the other side of
darkness
you lay ablaze in ethereal
incandescene,
the hieroglyphs of creator's rescue...
Human Love
Precious memories obscured by time wander in his head
Fragments of a promise vowed to the woman he needed
Thoughts subcutaneously flashed minding crucial matter
Ordained hearts await to inhabit their dreams thereafter
Obstacles stealthily conceal answers from probing minds
While confidence reassures veracity measures their finds
Determined to detangle blind perceptions tenacity reigns
Impending storms can not deter hunger destiny reclaims
Anomaly is a toxic burden to ambiguities obfuscating life
Ruby denotes confusion emerald suggest free from strife
Undying devotion flaming with emotions a curative salve
Hands and fingers gently clasped epitomize human love!
Penned: 04/20/2018
Aboard cruise liner:
Vision of the Seas
AI poetry and aureate prose is quite often repulsive.
Bathetic prose relying on synonyms isn’t persuasive.
Content, more important than labels, that spins on looms
deep, thought-provoking poetry that eternally blooms.
Evocative language that hankers to an idyllic past;
finishing with a flourish leaving an impression that lasts.
Grammar rules adhered to and the spelling precise;
high-energy prose that wants me to read the poem twice.
Imagery well defined transporting me on a journey
juxtaposed with tantalising realms, but never corny.
Kicking over the traces and not flinching when
language treated as an art form with an aurum pen.
Metaphor must be transparent—never an enigma or obscure;
no ambiguities of puns that we as readers have to endure.
Originality—no plagiarism—goes without saying;
poetic licence, within limits, can be quite satisfying.
Quest for illumination on issues that are often moot.
Rhythm and sound have primacy over meaning to boot.
Sensitive treatment of the subject matter will always win.
Tautograms and alliteration mastered … overuse won’t win.
Unusual perspective on a topic, but not a lot of baloney.
Voice of the poet that clearly shines through cacophony—
winged inspiration that soars without fear or favour.
X-rated and risqué offerings would definitely not be devoured.
Yammering critics like an ostentation* of peacocks, while
zealotry that rankles leaves a bad taste—it’s no one’s style.
Greenish black silhouettes of trees
sans the complacency
mystique in their conversation,
a stream of uneven triangular arcs
in commune with the lilac-grey
puffs of floating vapor
coalescing in rebellion,
scent of wild delicate roses,
a lover's temptation,
cascades of prismatic water
falling like emotions hard
then, mingling plan-gently
in the river of thoughts,
a lavish pristine green meadow
inventive in its own league,
celestial beads of a night gown
defying the theory of
existentialism,
then why stand petrified
by the fire lit by yourself?
a self fluorish of ambiguities
and repine,
if discern the other side of
darkness
you lay ablaze in ethereal
incandescene,
the hieroglyphs of creator's rescue...
“Students make delicious treat for seniors”
What a sacrifice those students are making
It warms the cockles of this old man's heart
Such a sweet and unselfish undertaking
“Flaming toilet seat causes mass evacuation”
A bunch of patrons soiled their undies
As the saying goes. “Know what burns my ass?”
Applies as you try to extinguish your panties
“Teen pregnancies drop off after twenty-five”
Well, I certainly would hope that's the case
That's a dirty big family in any man's language
For the beds, you'd soon run out of space
“Veterinarians take over as panda mating fails”
Okay, now I've got this strange mental picture
It's definitely X-rated if you ask this old guy
An unprecedented and very weird mixture
“Stiff opposition expected to casket proposal”
It's kind of what you would probably expect
Given the condition of the deceased inside
I mean really, we should show some respect
“Head of African country seeks arms”
Wow! Just a head and a couple of arms
What a weird sight that would turn out to be
Most people would sure be alarmed
“Studies have shown that obesity rubs off”
Well, if that's the case, I'll be rubbing
Every day and night till my skin turns raw
Till I get back my happy old zing!
© Jack Ellison 2013