Long Asterisk Poems
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We don’t call it a situationship,
but it lives in that space.
between almost and maybe,
between love and a placeholder name.
He says he loves me.
Says he wants forever,
says he wants to build.
Says, “Don’t leave.”
And I whisper back,
“I won’t.”
Because God, I don’t want to.
It sounds beautiful,
until the beauty comes with conditions.
Because then he looks at me
like I’m a dream
with an asterisk.
Like I’m enough,
but not entirely.
He says things like,
“If only you were smaller…”
And maybe he thinks it’s harmless,
maybe he thinks it’s motivation,
maybe he thinks it’s just words.
But it’s never just words.
It’s a quiet kind of violence
to be held by someone
who keeps imagining you different.
It’s not the sentence that cuts,
it’s the meaning underneath it.
It’s the way it tells my mind,
“You are loved…
but not as you are.”
He sees someone else,
someone smaller with curves,
and suddenly I’m a comparison.
“If only you looked like that…”
As if my body is a problem
he’s patiently waiting to solve.
And I start wondering…
Do you love me,
or do you love the version of me
you think you can earn?
Do you love my laughter,
my heart,
my softness…
but not the softness
that lives on my skin?
Because listen...
If I am not worthy
in this body,
then I will never be worthy
in another one.
If I am not enough
right now,
then I will not become enough
just because the scale agrees with you.
Because what happens when I meet my goals?
What happens when I am smaller?
Do you get to love me louder then?
Do you get to claim me proudly then?
Do you get to deserve me
only after I shrink?
No.
If you cannot hold me
whole…
then you do not get me
halfway.
Because I am not a “before.”
I am not a “fix.”
I am not a woman you love
with exceptions.
I am not a body
you tolerate
until it becomes easier to want.
I am here.
Now.
And if I am not worthy
as I stand…
Then you will not be worthy
when I rise.
One afternoon as I walked by,
Saw Fred staring at the sky.
I stopped and shouted out a “Hi!”
Fred gave me a wave and beckoned me nigh.
I had no place I had to be.
So, I wondered over for to see,
What it was Fred wanted of me.
Would you like a beer?
I have a few on ice right here.
So, we sat beneath a maple tree
And this is what Fred shared with me.
“I’ve been cogitating on some numbers.
Ruth hit 60 back in 27
Took till 61 for Maris to hit 61
Ford Frick gave it the asterisk
Because baseball went from 154 to 162
Games that is, and it took Maris all 162
The record to break
Now it held up till 98
When Sosa and McGwire hit 66 and 70
In 99 they hit 63 and 65 respectively
All of this was undone in 01
When Bonds hit 73
All these homeruns seemed an anomaly
Then Conseco spilled the truth
All these guys were on the juice
In plain and simple terms
To break the records, they defeated
Each of them had actually cheated
Numbers often tell a story
When numbers shift in great proportion
There is always an explanation for the distortion.”
Then Fred reached down and grabbed a stick.
Waved it around as if he were performing a trick.
Next, he started writing on the ground,
When he was done, I looked down and found:
52.6 53.3 50.2 55.2 49.0 51.2 56.7 58.2 54.9 55.7 66.8
80 84 88 92 96 00 04 08 12 16 20
Now what is this I inquired of Fred?
This is what Fred said.
I first voted in 1980
So, each year’s voter turnout I have listed.
See in 2020 the numbers shift in great proportion
And I can only think of one explanation for the distortion.
They spread the rumour
It ain’t true
what they like to think of you
only human
See their mood
humourous
see you lose
exuberant
banter bouncing
blunt abuse
stand rebound it
legs refuse
their open mouths
wish you clown
jokes they sound
keep you down
what goes around
It’s your turn now
Felt their bow bow
cope somehow
I sink drown
no help about
hold hand out
they slap it five
all an act all a lie
hold my hand now
small piece dies
make out you are nice guy
backs behind
laughing louder
oh to live a life o' lie
insecurities are rife
sly I see in your eyes
laughter cry
not around now
out of sight
Not around
out their life
they think my fall
makes them look tall
but they stand tall
their hand I pulled
laugh me down
they are cruel
I helped you
when you struggle
strop and crawl
I know your weakness
pain and sore
how you stumble
how you beat it
what cause trouble
wait repeat
burst your bubble
I won't seek
see you leak
I now cope all on my own
world you’re yet to have known
for now you have an ego grown
I’ve the pin to see it blown
for now you feel the bigger man
but bugger damn I know your head
misplaced banter fed me threads
you love it how I fumble down
one day luck will turn around
normally you must resent
this has been your chance to vent
showing you are not a gent
misery wishing far from decent
descend my friend love to offend
funny how you jump on board
“mates”, I think I'll cut the cord
You ruin moods
can’t be accused
divert attention
“Look at you”
If it’s me
I’ll leave you be
replace and blame somebody
if only you could take the blame
accept responsibility
but you cannot it's lame
so long to you and me
screenshots of these words get passed
all I think is kiss my asterisk
you don't know whom I aim specifically
assume and right you must be
Alas when specificity is masked in its duplicity
to temper its intensity it may have a propensity
to touch the edges gently to stimulate us mentally
to hide within the lilting verse a subliminally errant curse
with subtle lines a bit too terse - then again it could be worse
they could insert an asterisk - induce headshaking “tsk tsk tsks”
So when asked to specify, I try, I try, I truly try
to force my words into “the norm”, confine my ink, make it conform
and yet it flows – a violent storm, from deep within a whirlwind born
a spinning, loud and raucous horn wailing from a pen pricks thorn
howling in both joy and pain, ranting at both sun and rain
sitting ‘tween tracks rusted stain waving to life’s passing train.
The trick - to call a word a word - not split it with poetic sword
claim it left us empty, bored or thrilled, awakened, reassured
the trick – to let the words find us to chip away our readers rust
outwit our “learned” poets crust, open our hearts and slowly trust
that in its harsh simplicity it stabs with cold specificity
at the edges of rigidity and the barriers ‘’tween you and me.
John G. Lawless
©3/29/2019
Manchu poetry
In the silence of the firs, I gather what remains,
The fragments of a memory, the loosening of chains.
I look at the reflection, but the eyes are not my own,
A shadow in the mirror of a self I've outgrown.
The autumn air is cooling, the summer's green has fled,
A transition in the seasons for the words I haven't said.
The "female asterisk" is a weight I cannot bear,
A heavy skirt I carry, but no longer want to wear.
I am an unstoppable storm, a force of grace and fury,
Escaping from the prying eyes and the world's quiet jury.
I am not a project to fix, nor a role to be played,
But a traveler in the mist, where the old versions fade.
In the vast open sky, I find a different light,
Walking through the shadows to the dawn after night.
I am "both me and mystery," a truth I finally see,
Lost to the world I knew, but found in being me.
Stages and steps are the structures of Life’s nomenclature
a little mind isn’t ready to go through its rotating disk,
quick and fast void of much strain, no matter the way
but such an inpatient method carries the most risk.
Building upon contentment to slowly reach prosperity,
such energy is diverted for unholy accumulation in a brisk.
No item is beyond such eyes in need of sedation
the Lord of Moscow fighting to also be the mayor of Bisk.
Possessions beyond reach stimulate more awareness and sensitivity,
unconsciously and rapidly, mindfulness undergoes a frisk.
The unnecessary search for more, never nearly gets exhausting
but disappointment nods, tagging such a person with asterisk.
Enormous wants so large, yet squeezed by the mind and limbs
lands one in a tornado, subsequently throwing everything in a whisk.
The landmark was given the name
"Exclamation Point," and indeed it became
the most exciting place I'd ever known!
The "parentheses" between us shone
of sun "dashes" splashing
on the "comma" aquamarine.
My fashion "square bracket" charms swayed
like my body stayed in Mark's trustworthy arms.
Our eyes simultaneously met
the first "asterisk" set in the sky, shining brightly.
"Make a wish," he whispered softly,
"and close your eyes tightly."
When I opened my eyes, he was down on one knee!
The "question Mark" asked next
was actually my silent request!
He pulled the "asterisk" from the sky,
and lovestruck eye to eye,
he gently slid it on my consenting finger.
Then suddenly swans graced the stage
like a princess rescue in a storybook page.
We agreed to continue our courtship that day
the "semicolon"ial biblical way.
How difficult it was that magical night,
amidst the "ellipsis" Little Dipper kite,
but we wanted to honor our great Creator.
A longing "period" of three months later,
down a driftwood isle along the same sand
our "carets" met "ampersand" hand-in-hand.
4/19/19
I kiss your risks
Cheerfully without singled
One out in asterisk
As we romantically mingled
I play your ball
Joyfully on an away pitch
Yet, you never reject any of my calls
Or dramatically snub me for the rich.
I fly your flight
Emotionally without copilot
Despite the watcher's awful fright
Quietly watching to act like Pilate
Pure happiness rents my cheek
Whenever you come around
Bathing in your graceful creek
To energize the pale smiles joy abounds
The password I decode
Remains unexplored
Till morrow outmode
My ever gallant warlord
Truly, love changed me
Trying out the best logic
Tracking details about our wee
Most of which are on academic
My attitudes are dying
Of thy presence in loneliness
Your gratitude are spying
My fortitude in weariness
Master of my mind
Your absence gets it blind
As the queen of your heart
This poem pens you an everlasting art
I picked up an old recipe book looking for something appetizing to cook, the recipes were very old and something unusual was moving in my soul. I wanted a taste and resonate beyond the heaven, a taste that was different and one that would appease the global longinging. I have tried British cuisine but it was too cold and it would have rapture my soul. French and Italian was full of compassion; extremely romantic so I place an asterisk beside it but later I will see if that will fit. Chinese cuisine was too hot and Japanese was too flat, Vietnamese and Thai was too hard to comply; too much noodle would ruin my sleep and cause my spirit to weep. Mexican was too spicy and Middle East was too dicey. I still could not make up my mind and I want to bring the universe alive and appease their appetite and so I turn my head toward the sky and watch the cloud slowly transition in the sky.
Astrology isnt real. You cannot read the stars. Your sign isnt a sigil. It has no recollection of being a part of you. You are not a light being. In the grand scheme of things, your destiny was marked with an asterisk until further notice. You claim spirituality but you look within when you are without merit. You arent special nor rare & what makes you who you are isnt defined by the sum of your birth but by remembrance of those youve affected. You live upon a throne of lies & shield yourself within the walls of self indulgence bearing the sign of delusion. You deserve nothing & have only earned your effort in being present. Your past is meaningless unless you're able to change it which you cannot & your future is irrelevant as long as you dont tear down those binds made of self destruction woven by those who bore the weight of your creation.
You want more but fail to achieve it because life's a maze and discernment is the compass.
The beginning is and will always be the second you start your progress towards self actualization through the lense of perseverance and focused obligation because you have no rights until you take it back from those you let manifest them away from you through psychological warfare and emotional dependency.