Long Bequeaths Poems
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Father now journeys
into afterlife destination alone,
October 7th, 2020 mid afternoon
with Earthlings ministration did attone
where night envelops his lovely bones
rendered devoid of any groan
courtesy Roxanol (morphine)
and Ativan finding him prone
to experience painlessness, and no
his dying wish, plus last will and testament
won't include burial and/or headstone
cuz, he wants to integrate and did intone
cremation as ecologically friendly option
scattering ashes to parts known
someday... yours truly will too
succumb to the dead zone.
Stark reminder to live fully an urgent yen
to live life fullest between now and when...
ever yours truly exits
stage door left, perhaps ten
twenty, thirty... eighty, ninety, one hundred...
additional orbits around sun
a remarkable human phenomenon
(me) courtesy mine burning ken
bequeaths modest minute man
near accursed immortality longevity totaling even
score of years counting (crows)
and father time among his brethren.
Distress unavoidable which mortality doth bring
nevertheless, tis impossible mission
to eradicate pain and suffering, which doth sting
consolation assuages grief, viz prayer
and buttressing coping with spiritual wing
profound absence augments biting zing.
Biological reproduction begetting offspring
lodging within uterine abode
subsequent in utero development
regarding accretion embryonic node
biological algorithm doth automatically encode,
nevertheless longevity invariably affected
no doubt courtesy lifestyle mode.
Random crapshoot luck of the draw offspring born
genetic blueprints also decree existence transient
parents emphatically teach progeny
got no choice must inform
daughter(s), and son(s) ineluctably forsworn
demise bound with birth certificate presents horn
of dilemma conscious the next generation
granted only so many Earth orbitz around sun.
Once grim reaper deftly
communicates I must bid adieu
eternal hasta la vista to kith and kin
please don't shed a tear for generic
germane admirable bad company crew
member, albeit healthy as an ox
never got the flu,
an atheist doubting thomas
though genealogy records
incorporate many a cynical Jew
at least one legendary antiestablishmentarian
gleaned within mine purview
shunned, ostracized and banished to Xando.
Lead Weight
To look from the peak of dreams
And open those inspirational wings
Take flight on eternal winds
Heart in its space soaring
Trusting to loves imaginings
A leaping embrace into the presence of light
Eyes and smiles generous with accepting
Extricated from doubts precipice edge
An Angel called to the souls migration
Toe poised and knee raised
Arms flung wide
And head held height
Set to gaze upon the open skies
Floats a child’s balloon
A picture of hopes wanton disentanglement
But there also a thread of life follows
Holds a trap
The lines scant trailing behind
Feels the tug
And from that indelible chord
The lead weight attached
Pulls wearily back
To the ground
Bird of freedom falls forlorn
Every seventh heaven burdened
By twisted knots
Carrying their loops and snagged entrails
From the lead weight
In your heart
Hidden Psychoanalytical shade
Yanks at the corners of your smile
Without closure this grey dull
And pitted scar
Drags dour its trail of dust
Marked by drops of tears
Damage its only afterthought
Of quiet screamed hurt
Unhappiness for all the happy mirror masked
Bequeaths the years of sadness it sought
In your palm written the fated destiny
Never to be whole
Never to be free
Bleeding its cut splinter of betrayal
Long before adulthood embraced
The child’s need for escape
Running heedless toward any inspired edge
And launch far enough
And far enough
And long enough
Into the blue
And glide on joyous fictions
Released upward to heights
Yet unattained
And simply float drift away
Start again
But the line fixes and fixated
Held fast to the leaden weight weighted
Pulls heavier
Than the ground beneath your feet
I will keep this one simple as it involves one with love
to get the full impetus this song fits like a glove
I am a lover, or prostitute/gigolo of love, but a guitar
reigns all and rises above all. Thank God for Youtube and the offerings
it promotes from a antique man that its presents promote. So much I have l
listened and so much I've lost to vinyl, tape, 8 track and more than it cost.
Whatever the measure the venue that speaks is all that I ask for and all that
bequeaths. Way past, past, pre present now forward, lends ears to all measures
that motivate pleasures to all that appreciate without no man clatures to ageless
yea man playtatures. Music is all to one and all regardless of age and for one for all.
My middle son suddenly I heard him of Frank like I did as a boy in Ohio a dank. Is there
something to astrology, heredity, DNA, that speaks to the aforementioned
in a word yes foretay. Hidden, hiding, promising, pre eminent, ever prominent
evasive, compromising maleovenent. This is where parental promotion is prime
where u forget about convention, discipline, and sublime. Letting them be,
and be and be be, without social face premises to see. My sons r the greatest
as they think arraigned,unassigned, unhinged, to favor fathom their existence
in line to their own place in the present time/place/passion position equitable
and free forth coming to a future fashion fusion frankness filled with
love, caring, forgiveness, and global nurturance for all things human. Yea,
right. It is possible if u drop yr ego and give yr other other self half a f-ing chance.
A mirror works both ways my friend.
Somewhere, not within an earshot
not within the four corners of the room
not within the reach of fingers
not within a grasp of a feeling,
not within an understanding
not where an eye could reach seeing,
not even existing in a make believe world
the wailing of the orphans ,
the sobs of the abandoned ,
the plea of the unborn child,
the shrieking of the frightened,
the loneliness of the forsaken,
the strangeness of feeling of being haunted by disaster,
the awful experience of failure,
the need to belong,
the struggle to let go of the unforgiving ,
the breach of confining rules to be free
the will to be sane in a pretend world,
the scourge of a pride,
the embattled courage of the unrecognized
the will to survive at the brink of death,
Somewhere, one is deaf of the cares in life to hear
one is numb of pain to feel , one is self engrossed to care
one is wounded to struggle ,
one is blind of the fleeting pleasures in life to be sensitive,
one is occupied of earthly possessions to empathize,
one is imprisoned of pride to be humble,
one is lamed with fear to speak up the truth and be happy
Somewhere, a humble heart can see,
generosity empowers unity , a touch can heal,
a smile bequeaths new assurance ,
a call sends relief,
soothing words lighten the toil,
a visit opens new perspective,
a camaraderie of friendship brings out the best in you,
a prayer transcends everything to beauty
and LOVE aims to perfection ...
The woman is a serpent with eyes that hypnotize,
That wants to swallow you whole, to engulf you in her fascination,
With her enchanted smile, she lures you into her blind web,
She drinks your soul and leaves only stirred memories.
She is a divine potion that seduces minds,
With her tempting scent and the sweetness of her body,
The woman is a temptation full of mystery and debauchery,
That thirstily pushes you deep into sin.
Dressed in flowing dresses, like a slender dance on strings,
The serpent composes a tableau of pleasure and desire,
With her deceitful charm and coiled smile,
She wraps her body and steals your mind, at leisure.
But when love transforms into a wild feline,
The serpent bequeaths its lost instincts,
With venom laced in every touch,
It corners you and whispers hidden malice.
The woman becomes a remorseless and cunning enemy,
The serpent purrs, senses your fears and feeds them,
When it tailors from your heart a heap of pain,
You feel breathing poison and everything unravels in her wake.
But let's not forget that the serpent, with its spells,
Cannot be definitively condemned to eternal cruelty,
Because within its petrified love hides the desire,
To be calmed and to tuck away its tongue behind happiness.
Thus, in this dance of paradoxes and deceit,
The woman turns into a magical serpent in the labyrinth of life,
With verses that revive the past and soothe the soul,
With metaphors that stitch your wounds and grant you hope.
In his book, "Out of my life and thought" Albert Schweitzer recalls
the afternoon in a boat at Lambarene, where he first conceived
his guiding philosophy, "Reverence for Life". The staggering
implications of such a seemingly innocuous generality still
confront us today...and perhaps more than ever with recent
discoveries at the sub-atomic level in quantum physics. But when
I buried my dad, it came to me that all the contempt I have for
anything military was compromised somewhat. I thought that day of
Arlington, when the historic burial rites of the US Army had
such a profound effect upon me.
Schweitzer's Creed
The doctor would have smiled, I think,
in reverie off Lambarene's shores,
to field a posthumous dream--
to learn dry atoms' call to other worlds
can reach and penetrate those alien shells
with marching cadences.
How so like Blake!...who found his universe
within a grain of sand,
for science stops in awe where life begins--
for it begins forever.
Small boats and yes, quixotic ideologies
will never let us be; old lives give way
as sandbars to the river; the old doctor
takes his bow, steps into history
and smiling still, bequeaths
a still more monstrous God of life
where even Alpha and Omega yield
to immortality!
~
The city of knowledge is burning
Crushed are all the houses of learning
Under the siege of the city of information and the city of ignorance
For the two have joined together to destroy gnosis
The gatekeeper has been stabbed in his head
The enemies and the traitors bloodied the rivers red
Decapitating the institutions
Presenting misleading solutions
Leading the inhabitants to a seeming ablution
Only chastising them with their own desire
But the sands beneath the city are ever shifting
The knowledge the city bequeaths is spirit-lifting
And while blood has run down the beard of the gatekeeper
There are millions ready to avenge as the battle gets steeper
My weapon is a sheathed award
Precautionary dissimulation is my sword
I am protecting of the secret knowledge of my Lord
No burning fire has the strength to cut our cord
And as they break the hands of the crowd
And cut the tongues of the proud
Our heart remains the clairvoyant organ of might
This organ is a sealed book, hidden in the darkness of night
And divine light
Will extinguish the burning fires and quench our desires
As the new gatekeeper is put in place
Fully dismantling the hemorrhaging cities of ignorance and information
Inaugurating all in the gnostic station
The poet dreams, and with a simple glance
at trees or sky or at a mountain spring,
begins to write, endeavors to enhance
each sight of beauty with imagining.
He paints midsummer as a day of gold,
the song of birds at twilight as the tune
for his beloved, whose aspect is extolled
and likened to the splendor of the moon.
At times, his heart is pained. It seems that doom
pursues him in that chasm where he grieves.
He finds he still must write. . . and there may bloom
sweet wistful roses on his journal’s leaves.
Though meager be his assets, he bequeaths
to us a treasure with the words he breathes.
Entered 10/22/2020 for Line Gauthier's Have You Published Poetry Contest
From my chapbook: Dancing the Unicorn: Lyrical Blooms 2
I had won a chapbook deal for my Lyrical Blooms 1 entitled Dreaming the Unicorn, and I followed it up with a part 2 Dancing the Unicorn, a 44-page chapbook pubished in 2008 by Shadow Ink. The book contains poems of various themes with about two poems per page and organized by types of poetry forms. Blue roses are scattered through the book. Shadow Ink sadly stopped publishing.
Written: October 19, 2023
Poem in the Fragmented Form Created by Poetess: Constance la France
The good work is done by people with jagged, broken edges because those edges cut things and leave an imprint, a design. By Harry Crews
_______________________________________
Love's blades tear within as a dull scalpel with teeth
Leaving merely a crushed, dead chunk of flesh
It shreds, gouges, and weeps till the heart bequeaths
Offering its heart gambles will be accepted fresh,
Being hugged frowns as it gulps the vile reality
The dagger sinks further, piercing the frailty of sanity
A heart still bleeds while succumbing to sociality
Pathetic, petrous parcel with pebbly peaks
Jagged-toothed dome rising into bespeaks,
Each is engraved, erose, and has surface breaks.
Swallowed by a murky quagmire of an abyss beneath,
Snapping at heels all life, laden with vessel mensch,
Unfathomable evil clings to grief and jagged vitality
Vow to thrive with every word your soul speaks.
We've experienced pandemics before
but the COVID-19 virus is new.
This coronavirus we can't ignore
so self-quarantine, we're told we need to,
it’s not safe to socialize anymore.
The whole world abruptly ground to a halt
as airlines and cruise ships swiftly shut down.
And although China claims it's not at fault
established in Wuhan's wet market town,
this strain gained the leverage to pole-vault.
The stock market plunges deeper each day
and the economy's in a tailspin.
Politicians practiced at what they say,
seem somewhat vague about the peril we're in,
fearing this virus could be here to stay.
Every city’s rush hour traffic is light
resembling a twilight-zone episode.
Bars and restaurants are locked up tight
and all normal activities have slowed,
as folks shelter in place dealing with fright.
People's lives and livelihoods are at stake
with the elderly at more risk than most.
This virus bequeaths turmoil in its wake
and using current stats as a guidepost,
it'll take distancing to stop this outbreak.
(Quintain Sicilian)
03/20/2020