Long Avalanche Poems
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Somewhere deep within the machinery of life, in the nearly unfathomable growth and division-by-replication cycle, one was not like the others. And then, an unlikely pair… A cascade resulting in an avalanche, all within the mysteries of a slice of DNA, a gene. She is remarkable, a thing of true beauty, and her perceptions of the world were never mine, but they are altered by this wayward spark, this catalyst that propels her outside the lines of “normal”. She is perhaps the most loving of the five, will curl up in your lap and stroke your face and flash a smile that tells you all is right with the world, and yet she lags behind her younger sibling, at least in the ways we finite creatures mark and measure our reality. But what I have come to understand from our Designer is that everything is done with the utmost care, with exquisite attention to detail, and this leads me to believe that he was not daydreaming when he formed her. Or if he was, she was on his mind, and on his face, a smile that tells you all is right with the world…
tragic perfection ~
the true tragedy lies with
a flawed perception
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for the Like A Child Poetry Contest
sponsored by Regina McIntosh
written on 07/16/2022
MR. PLAYER COMES CALLING
Playful monkeys on trunks of gold.
Banana like branches, like hammocks.
“My friends and family dynamics…
Oh, the fun of the life I pleasantly hold!”
Jealous of a competing tree…so calm.
So busy at her task, sun shines hot.
Pleasantly singing of what life’s brought,
Lai Lai weaving leaves of palm.
Swinging his hairy silhouette he turns up
party music, which relaxes “Mr. Player.”
Pulls his sweetheart close, he turns ever grayer.
Knowing she’s growing older, he must break up.
Lai Lai swings tree to tree selling homemade goods.
Pays for the tree she rents. Smiles at her troubles.
“Who does she think she is? Never offers me her baubles!”
“The player” decides to ditch his girl, present falsehoods
to the girl across the way. He must bring her down
Out of her, oh so humble, ho hum existence.
Cool player expects no real resistance.
As Lai Lai sees him swinging her way, she wears a frown.
His charms come calling, arms are swinging…
Lai Lai not shy on wisdom, pulls back a branch.
Her refusal, shakes the tree, Player in an avalanche.
Wounded head to toe, besides his pride is stinging,
Mr. Player found he was better off with his queen bee.
Finds her sunning herself, banana splits laid out in feast.
She mocks and laughs and cleans up her big hairy beast,
“She’s too goody two shoes for you! What you want is me!”
Lai Lai relaxing after a hard week of pleasant labor.
It’s Sunday, waiting for her hard working man.
She’s time to dress herself in silk, wave the heat away with fan.
You see Lai Lai’s fallen in love with her ambitious neighbor.
Moral: Don’t fall for a charmer.
3/7/2017
Nayda’s Fable Contest
The mistakes I wield.
To hope I yield.
As if there is a painful tether.
To my wishes I was forced to weather.
This evil without that I was forced to consume.
I later discovered that outside my room.
There were loved ones whispering and whirling.
And I was trapped in this twirling.
I had thought that there was homelessness outside these bars.
But really- outside my delusions is a love made of my scars.
As I look below this hopeless peak.
I do not wish to tumble through an avalanche of bleak.
My family is whole again as they let me crumble.
Into sacrifice, I wish to tumble!
Coruscating gravitas
imbibed algebraic
cerebral tranches
to spark
alacrity defiant
material manducation
deployed tangibly
phlegmatic
whilst
begetting manifest
miraculous meteoric
innovative impulses
when
penetrating bailiwicks
of tongue-contortion
cerebrum
eidetic retention
straddling juncture’s
poised gateway
as
baton weaving
catalyst triumphant
for
pumped ensemble
virtuoso visionaries
who
taproot trajectories
cocoon emerging
brainchild unfettered
obsessing
magazine mandarins
artistic
archetypal Monet
lavish lavender
lily pond
with
balsamic brushstrokes
galvanising
similar maven
budding Einsteins
blazing trails
of
original contrivance
boosting beneficial
health domain
of
wellspring weal
integrating impactful
slants
gearshift gargantuan
narcissistic nadir
repetitive
regurgitations rampant
abjured by
polymath prodigious
whose
appalachian peak
of antecedents
an avalanche
tintinnabulation
enunciated showpiece
heralds harvesting
gilt-edged prodigy
in fields
belletrist
nimble-fingered
experiential
We sat in the fallout
of last year’s gift exchange—
smashed angel centerpiece
taped back together
as good as a rogue bomb
if someone mentioned it.
Our voices dragged
like anchors through an ocean—
low, cold, summoning something
older than Kris Kringle.
I strained to recall
a time when it wasn’t like this.
The kitchen table—
a battleship, whipped tension
and potatoes. Dad’s knife slipped
once, then twice. Mammaw clutched
her rosary, counting sins like beads
of gravy on the drop-cloth. The whiskey
isn’t worth your soul, she whispered.
Our air was burned sugar—
a water pie, depression-era relic
left too long in the oven.
As they say, it’s the ingredients you have
that bake the cake.
Mom whispered, Let’s just get through it.
The corners of her mouth disappeared—
I knew better.
When my sister reached for a biscuit,
I grabbed her wrist—too hard.
Mine, I hissed. The room turned
quiet, the kind of silence snow wears
before an avalanche.
By sunset,
half of us were crying—
over the ruined pie,
or the family tree
we couldn’t stop cutting down.
When I reimagine it—
and I always do—
I don’t erase or the snowfall
or the tension.
Instead, I break the bread
without a flinch,
leave my sister’s wrist unmarked.
Dad’s carving hand steadies,
and in my version,
we get grandma drunk—
the old broad needed to lighten up.
The angel still shatters—
but this time we laugh,
our elbows knocking it over
reaching for seconds.
In the end, we huddle closer,
ash still falling, we celebrate
cold on the other side of the door.
Our hands stay sticky, glue healing
the angel’s cracked wings,
sugar crystallizing our fingerprints—
we press lightly, only to test for doneness,
we are patient,
we watch as snow smothers our wreckage—
call it DNA, an elegy.
Radar
My mind captures you
By your love enraptured
I have weakened
So defenseless
I am your transmitter
Your ideas’ searcher
On alert Loveflower
When I’m not with you
Day becomes night
Your love sweet dawn
Brings into my heart
Sugar crystals
In dazzling radiance
You are deliciousness
In bath of sunrays
A moving sentiment
In a sweet romance
Breathe in my vision
The seer of my eyes
Look at you through
The lens of my love
And then you realize
How beautiful you are
Nothing can beat my vision
In my heart‘s depiction
Portraying you with
The paintbrush of idolization
So charismatically soothing,
Fragile, altruistic, discerning
You are by all means
My top sui generis
So peculiar
Through the loop
Of my love radar
The solo man in the universe
The most luminous chrysoprase
You are the one and only
Inalterable phenomenon and glory
You are the rays of a fountain
Spraying on me joy
An avalanche of a mountain
Rolling me into snow
The light that emanates
From you is more vital
Than the morning glow
Rise and shine
My Beautiful Queen
My heart skips
A beat when I see you
It feels special
When I am with you
My days are like nights
When you’re not around
Your love brings
The sweet sunlight
Into my heart
The many moments we spend
And many more to come in life
You’re my reason and my strive
Stay in my heart as its special part
Words alone cannot describe
My love live until
from east Sun is rising
Until Earth rotate around it
Million thanks for your sunset
The most impetuous magnet
I could never resist
The most attractive
My Most Flashing King
As I prick up my ears
To the pitter patter on the roof
Your glittering smile is
Of a luminous morning’s proof
Always with you
For better or for worse
In the moment of
GOOD and EVIL
In contrition in bliss
….. in love’s worship
Meeting you has been
The highlight of my life
I aim tomorrows to diversify
This bond to intensify
Enchanted in exploring
Further reasons for loving
Your disarming glamour
Compassion and favor
Alluring sense of humor
Put a smile on my face
Filling me with awe
I am so much obliged
For you for being all,
What I could had asked for
In a woman and much more
In silence,
The soul cries,
In the tranquil of the night the soul searches,
It is saddled with a plethora of questions,
It desires to see through the veil.
What am I made for?
The soul asks,
What is this that walks with me?
The soul desires to know,
Who is this that shares my abode with me?
The soul inquires.
The soul fights its monsters,
It resists the creeping darkness,
It goes through the floodwaters,
It journeys through the shrivelled meadow,
It tunnels through the gloom,
The soul walks through the valley of shadows.
In the tempest,
The soul finds a resting place,
In every rub,
The soul polishes its mirror,
In the avalanche of thoughts,
The soul steers a middle course,
In the mysteries,
The soul sees its wonder.
It is snowing! It is snowing! It is SNOWING!
Three children I usually have to drag out of bed are heading for the front door.
I say “don’t forget your bookbags! Don’t you want breakfast?”
Mom, it’s SNOWING! Says the middle one. No school. Right?
I begin to laugh. This is Minnesota. We don’t cancel school here.
An abdominable snowman could be eating busloads of kids,
we would not cancel.
An avalanche could bury six cars on the school road.
We would not cancel.
MINNESOTA I remind them.
We used to live in California where they would cancel school for rain.
They begin grumbling, put their pajamas on, and try to feign illness.
Too late, I say. I saw how fast you got dressed and got those sleds out.
I hear grumbling all the way to the bus where other kids are yelling “Snow!”
Like in a dream I see it
Angels charging from the sky
Mighty warrior on a white horse
With blazing fire in his eye
Coming to bring justice
To make this world right
Jesus take me with you
When you fight that final fight
We are one nation united
Under You My God, My Lord
For liberty and justice
We always don our sword
Never do we back down
We have You on our side
Jesus take me with You
When You make that final ride
Rumblings heard from heaven's way
An eruption splits the sky
An avalanche of white on white
Charges down from on high
Evil gathers armies
An attempt to go to war
But The King of Kings, The Lord of Lords, slays them with His sword
Jesus take me with you
dress me all in white
Mount me on a white horse
For that final fight
I know you sure don't need me
But let me have a part
Though I'm old and tired
I'm still a soldier at heart
Dale M Totten 2010 Rev 19:11
To soldiers everywhere !
My favorite college professor, the woman who talked me back into finishing the counseling program, when I wanted to quit, was Dr. Jean.
Dr. Jean insisted on an exit interview right before I graduated.
“You are delightful,” she told me. “Unique, funny, so I don’t know how to say this, but….”
In case you have not figured it out, as soon as you hear the but, it’s not going to be anything good.
“I really want you to hear me,” she said. “When you go to an interview, well…um….don’t be you.”
I looked at her in awe for about two seconds, then our faces both cracked at the same time and we began to hoot with laughter, loud, ugly, who gives a claw egg, type laughter. We could not stop.
It was an avalanche now. Pretty soon we were in each other’s chairs, hanging onto each other
In pure glee, our insanely loud laughter, echoing down the halls of the building. Laugh-crying now.
I was so glad my bladder was empty.
“Okay,” Dr. Jean said, pulling herself out of my arms. “What I meant to say is, be yourself, just….”
“Not so much MYSELF,” I said.
She smiled. “Exactly,” she said.
Then she handed me my favorite book in the whole world, and said, “This heroine reminds me of you.”
If you have never read ‘The Paper Bag Princess,’ then please do.