Long Camouflage Poems
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My grandparents lived on farms – both sides of my family.
My mother’s parents and my father’s parents.
Overalls and button down shirts with pockets
Work boots for grandpas
Except my single grandpa did get dressed up fancy
For Saturday night dancing with his girlfriend.
He smelled wonderful too, wore a lariat with a turquoise stone
Shined his shoes as if he was going to church
My maternal grandmother was the only one I knew.
She wore a navy dress with large white polka dots
When we had weddings or funerals, and low heel shoes
The rest of the time I remember her wearing aprons over dresses
My mother was the first woman I saw who wore pants.
She preferred them to dresses, and took to polyester in a big way.
Remember the pantsuits of the seventies? I swear she invented those.
Matching tunics with wide legged pants.
My father wore plaid shirts or camouflage jackets
Unless he was going to work; then he wore a dark suit.
He was a salesman with a skinny tie.
He always looked crisp and clean; mom used starch on his clothes.
My style was wide bell bottom blue jeans that we called hip huggers.
When I was younger, and tops that looked maternity in the seventies.
This was the real style which horrified me in 1974, as I had to wear these blousy tops two years in a row
because I had a baby at twenty and twenty-one.
My new style is comfort. I am sixty-eight. I wear tennis shoes.
Elastic waists, soft clothes that are not tight, I love feeling free.
My husband is the same way – comfort clothes, elastic waists.
We like eating tasty foods; no blue jeans for us now.
We have three children. They dress according to their lives.
One has six children, but she dresses fancy and so do they.
Another has no children, she’s a professional. She dresses in suits.
Third child alternates between casual and fancy; working mom of three.
Our grandchildren are eclectic fashion displayers also.
Super controlled grandchildren wear traditional clothing,
Approved by mom or they do not leave the house.
The ones who are wild like our middle daughter have pink and blue hair.
I see dresses that are too short - the same as I wore in middle school.
I see pants that are too tight on boys, like we saw in the eighties.
I see boots not as cute as Nancy Sinatras or or go-go-boots.
Masks are the new fashion statement for the younger generation sadly.
I awake with the sweat of a distant dream....
Thinking of what I'd seen
Remembering what was in my mind's eye
Such sad, sad thoughts of a time gone by
I remember the heat of the desert and the dangers of camouflage men
of small remote villages.......and the people within
I recall a child.......I can still see her smile
Black was her hair, her hands they were oh so small
I can still see her face.........I remember it all
Erelah, yes that was her name
and ever since I met her my life's not been the same
She'd come to our station almost everyday
coming for her hunger, always to play
running round and round, hiding from us all
I still can hear her laughter........ I remember it all
Such a small girl, born into a ruthless world
A world where men prey upon men, and life is simply discarded like sand to the wind
Sunlight and shadows
One illuminates while the other falls
As days become weeks, distant voices call............
Messages of distress come over the wire
speaking of death, fire
of a small village, of evil men who rape, murder, and pillage
Cloaked with the tools of Azreal, the tarmac erupts
Awash in wind and sand, we're elevated into the air
Nap-of-the-earth quickly, mountains, valleys pass by fast
Distant souls burning, we ascend upon the village at last
Pyre smoke engulfs the senses, as it swirls around and around
Hovering high above, we descend swiftly to the chard ground
Toils of men are revealed in the dawn's light
The departed are scattered about as we scour for signs of life
From one burnt structure to another
We find nothing but hopelessness and despair
Only the dead and the dying, Iblis has been here
A familiar door, one I passed through many times before
Reluctantly I peer in, and to my great sadness I'd see
Little Erelah laying by her mother, still deep within a "dream"
But from this "dream" she'll not awake, nor shall she ever play
Both her innocence and life were taken
Never to learn to read, never to learn to write
Never to run and sing again, due to man's mindless strife
I promised to protect the children ever since that day
And always defend them against man's evil ways
And never ever forget her
That angel from above, or her simple message
LOVE.........
To me she was a moment of Spring, in a lifetime of endless Winter
She is but a dream..........
Judgement day is every day when you're trying to survive in a decent way. Clean up your life and move away, to a new playground for the kids to play. It's an Oreo cookie way of life, broader than black and white. Trying to break to the surface to see the light, but you keep getting suppressed.. it takes all your fight.
Drop out came a long way.. From counting stacks of 3 to a GED. On the outside mamma's so proud of me. But inside she's scared she don't want to see me take another fall, slip up and lose it all. X'ed up, punching holes in the wall. She's cautious for my life, she cries: "I wish you could see it through my eyes".
Accidentally got caught up in the game and chase again. Never had let go, the past was still holding onto my hand. Slowly takes over, but you keep it undercover. Keep it on the low, thinking nobody's going to know. But somehow I stayed on top of it. Only slinging and drugging on the weekends and ****. Got through my Friday and played on payday. Dedicated worker specialized in crazy.
Then one I day my end started to begin. I changed my life and I traded it in.. For a camouflage uniform that covered the scars on my skin. I ended up losing my freedom, tied down with conflicting feelings. Gun in my hand, I was told to defend, the pain and the hell that I had abandoned. The bad guy in trusted boots, ripped myself from my roots. I planted my self far from the town I was raised in.
Kind of felt like I was betraying there trust, leaving my love for a life that's lust.
But then again.. I finally felt filled inside, alive. Maybe there was a reason I looked at my past, and wanted to run and hide. No longer scraping dough to get high. Now I see it again, that pride. The sparkle in mamma's eye. And for the first time it ain't a tear from fear. Can't plan ahead a god damn year. Now she has hope instead of dread, from that knock on the door saying: "Your little girl's dead."
I opened my eyes and I stopped listening. Closed my ears to the phrases of hustlers. "Act classy, you're a lady" was all they could muster. How did they think ladies could survive in these streets? Double standards of life, a game you'll never beat.
I lived how I wanted, they said it was no place for a girl. But once I shared what I had, it became our world. I found the "I" in family, once the pain killers got a hold of me. They kill the pain but bring the misery.
THE CRYING WILD CREATURES.
Nzongi Mwero.
Oh, we recall the bygone times,
The days of the golden past,
That chirping with our merry mates,
Flying around the parks,
Gone the joys of the nests,
That freedom restrained,
Coming at our will in parks,
But hindered and chained in the parks.
Oh, we feel painted at our hearts when we recall,
The scene in the parks unsmiling,
No glistering dew drops from the trees,
All big trees were cut down,
We can’t forget that lovely shape of the parks,
That endearing our faces.
Oh, life was real nice in the vernal shade,
Oh, we miss the sweet voices of our brothers in the parks,
Would that we had the strength to break the predators,
What a bad luck have we?
Can we pine for another park?
Brothers let us think of the weapons and tactics,
That we could escape from poachers and predators.
My friend Antelope- You can use your speed in retreating,
You Tortoise- Use your shield or bomb shelter,
My friend Chameleon- You can use the camouflage,
You Porcupine- Please use your swords or bayonets,
My friend Snake- Use your poisoned knife,
You Stunk- Please Use your tear gas or poison gas,
My friend Octopus- Use your smoke screen,
You Electric Eel- Please Use your electric shock,
Then my friend Gecko- You can Use your diversionary tactics,
And finally me Elephant I will Use my tusks.
Everyone has a duty to perform his defensive way,
To deal with poachers and predators,
But still human beings have more brains,
They know how to trap us,
We plead those with good hearted to protect us.
Parks are our shelters,
Rivers are our shelters,
Oceans and lakes are our shelters,
Trees are our shelters,
The land is our shelters.
Oh, we beg you do not harm us,
You live on land- You live on land,
You drink water from the rivers –We live and drink that water,
You get medicine from trees- We live and eat those trees,
You collect foreign money from the parks- We live in the parks,
You use oceans and lakes to travel –We live in those waters.
Oh, we are all world creatures,
Why are you killing us for meat?
Why are you destroying the parks?
Why are you contaminating the waters?
Why are you cutting down trees?
Why are you burning the land we live?
Why are you hunting us for more money?
And already you are getting foreign money due to us,
Please stop hunting us or destroying our shelters.
(Continued from part one.)
Afire not his thoughts, the Devil sees,
He soars and roars, in his physical might.
His bears’ hug, his warmth, could melt you;
Into joys and tears, in willing submission.
Treat him not, to your portions of love.
He grows cold, is lost in erotic rage.
Wiggle not mermaid, in bouts of passion,
The dough you kneed, may turn love to hate.
Dare not the wile witches’ craft;
Lest he banish you to the earth’s folds,
To burn in hate, love and desire,
Forever and ever, in eternal penance.
Spurn not his love for the unknown,
With frivolous, eyewash camouflage.
He watches behind the scenes,
Your tremors in the curves and the lips;
You innocent, blooming seductress,
Holding the Mega-staff, letting reptiles sing:
You bore the man, the crowned lord of vice.
Rip him, Independence, to his natural doom.
Haven’t you learnt, you Hollywood menace?
Ever seen Javed Jaffery the Tellywood, Bollywood
Lollywood and Mollywood a few dozen like you?
Tent walk dove-eyed, bumps to the moon.
Kanjiwaram, the Casanova Frenchie,
Break dance in airs to the Eiffel Tower.
Red herring you to the Spanish bulls.
Joy ride Rolls on BMW’s track.
Con the Germans and the Japs.
You, wonder android, generations ahead.
(Forget the Merc-E, TELCO ties,
Or their Sumo-ing the Japanese pride.)
Take care you fool, Govinda could snare,
Rap tap the Seghal to his toe’s.
Golden Eye the double O’s latest dream.
Kung-fu Steven’s at his own game.
Anti-gravity NASA, with mental fields.
Stealth fly you out, from the Pentagon.
Biotech you back into American laps,
Genetically engineered, Gene cultured, wreck.
Brain-virus Microsoft, in config-trees,
Space walk you to the final frontiers in enterprise.
Dance away the foxes of your clan.
Ultra culture, the real London breed.
In knacks of, how to wink and blink.
Lifting eyebrows? Take care you oaf,
Run you goat! and don’t turn your head.
He is the cool cat, really looking his English best.
Flee, before the gambler, he is still there,
Smirnoff you to the Hustler`s care.
Toss you around, under Playboy’s thumb.
Floor you with his catwalk fun.
Cradle you, to the American roost;
Chickening out, not now KFC hen.
He is “She selling sea shells on the sea shore.”
In wizard glee, those Colgate teeth his real hope.
(To be continues in part three.)
The weather was just how I liked it
Looking like it would stay dry
The breeze had the sharp tinge of winter
Beneath a low overcast sky
The thick blackthorn hedgerow behind me
Bordered the tangled beech wood
In front was a sowing of Rape seed
The shooting from here should be good
The ditch in which I was standing
Was shallow and recently dried
I put up my camouflage netting
As kind of a temporary hide
I looked across my field of fire
It spread further than buckshot would reach
So I opened my trusty old twelve bore
And slipped two Eley five’s in the breach
I saw something off in the distance
Out on the old bridal trail
I knew straight away it was Reynard
I could see the white tip on his tail
This dog fox was working the hedgerow
Looking for something to eat
In a week or two he won’t be hunting
For vixens will soon be on heat
Then came a sound to my left side
I heard the dry rustle of leaves
I eased off the safety catch gently
And stood still not daring to breathe
Nearby from a patch of dead Teasel
A Pheasant was poking its head
It’s wattles were white as a snowflake
Round it’s eye was a dash of bright red
It’s head and neck seemed to change colour
With a green and blue oil like sheen
It sported a thin clear white collar
The clearest one I’d ever seen
Cautiously into the open
It was only three meters away
I was stunned by it’ breathtaking beauty
This vision is with me today
It looked like a fowl made of copper
Each breast feather tinged with a Pink
And edged with the finest black outline
As if they’d been sketched in with ink
It’s wings were a blend of dark ochre
Mingled with olive brown hue
It’s tail was two thirds of a meter
What was this hunter to do
Quite unaware of it’s danger
It slowly strolled on to the crop
Carefully I raised my shotgun
But something inside me said STOP
No way could I fire at this vision
This beauty by me won’t be shot
I came to an instant decision
Find something else for the pot
I have enjoyed many a pheasant
Washed down with a bottle of red
The countryside here would be poorer
If this lovely creature was dead
The bird by now had become bolder
and had wandered some distance away
With an unloaded gun on my shoulder
I went home having had a good day
I will have bread and cheese for my supper
Form:
"Blue Avians and the Poetic State of Mind
post apocalypse
the mother
sought the assistance
of Blue Avians.
when it came to
eggs stolen from a nest
who better than to
seek the assistance
of those ancient
wise creatures.
they had a keen sense
of the poetic.
without speaking,
they intuitively
understand
the misunderstood.
The Blues
shot right through
to the heart
of the matter.
Triangulation.
seated in
lapis lazuli
Merkaba
thrones
they fly
in fierce squadrons
sharp eyes, and minds
surveying the In-Between Place.
extra sensory perception
they lock into targets
reading signals hidden
under the radar
the cloaked
co-ordinates
of the Draconian
the great pretenders,
finding weakness
in the criminals’
fading camouflage.
slippery scales, light weights,
the Draconian
are bird bait;
too shiny,
inherent and inherited
reptilian, lizard minds
unsettling reprobates
in false light armour;
their dangerous enabling
supporting the
underbelly of it all,
their brother,
the venomous
Arachnid army.
The Blue Avians
saw deep inside
the Necromancer’s
deep indigo heart,
the blue heart of true mother.
they were for her
with faith
every time;
for like them, after all,
she also could fly
with the full strength,
the force of will in her mind.
they would fly
by her side. anytime.
they held no fear
of her motives,
her just moment,
her calling mission
for return of her child,
in the fullness of time.
they see
and they feel
the fierce call
of the Necromancer’s
true mind.
post apocalypse
the mother
sought the assistance
of Blue Avians.
when it came to
eggs stolen from a nest
who better than to
seek the assistance
of those ancient
wise creatures,
they possessed a keen sense
of swift justice.
they read
without speaking
truth in
the poetic,
a unifying
undying
poetically alienated
state of mind
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"I am the blue-lidded daughter of Sunset;
I am the naked brilliance of the voluptuous night-sky."
"In the sphere I am everywhere the centre,
as She, the circumference, is nowhere found."
Eye of Horus.
Horus.
Thoth.
Nuit.
Be kind to others
As you would have even your ecopolitical enemies
and win/lose ZeroSum competitors
be kind,
feel kinship,
speak kindly,
listen cooperatively,
take turns co-investing in win/win solidarity
with ecological empowering
enlightening interdependent Us.
Be not unkind to
or against Others
As you would not have even your Lose/Lose
non-ecological monoculturing,
out of control,
beyond healthy curiosity,
runaway wealthy StraightWhiteMale privileged,
RightWing negative Patriarchal Capitalists
become un-ecologically unkinned
against you
With the nearly unforgiveable audacity
to camouflage
patriotic nationalism
with anthrosupremacist rights of Earth ownership
to remain stubbornly win/lose
against healthy matriotic ecological views
of cooperative co-empathic integrity
As also Green CoPassionate wants and needs
roots and seeds
for polypathic communication
Refining win/win messages
healthy choices
wealthy voices
that regenerative democratic energy
is not necessarily not PatriarchalCapitalism degenerative
RightWing Yanged-out meanness energy
does not yet equal Yintegral Green LeftWing
exponentially spiraling synergy
As monotheistic Yang
equals not not ecological Yintegrity
exponentially squared
As EarthSpace that kindly matters
is also not not resilient Time
ecologically ex-potentially squared
in-formationally cubed
and kindly spiraling health dynamic
co-relational fractal wealth
Is not quite the same
as either proving
or disproving
that controlling PatriarchalCapitalism
reversed through principles
of both polyculturing and communal
healthy root systemic wealth
begets necessarily ecological kind co-relationships
Not bipolarizing out of control
not judging
disapproving
criminalizing
punishing
taking win/lose revenge
blaming with leftbrain verbal dominance,
overpowering by shaming right mindbody
neuro-sensory
co-passionate prime non-zero kind attachment
Zone of internal
polyentheistic nondenial of divisive secularizing turmoil
inviting WholeEarth Tribal co-investments
re-memeing
cooperative Green Indigenous EarthWomanist
kind memories of PolyCultural Communalists
Who really just don't have time
for all that nonsacred
monotheistic PatriarchalCapitalist sin
and mean ignorance.
The CoOp featured Women and Families
and their Matriarchal Allies,
often LGB and/or T,
and even some curiously queerer,
but not meaner
in appropriate demeanor
regardless of habitat
and camouflage
and costume,
ready for a folksy ball,
come as you neighborhood are
at Three Sisters CoOp.
The Corn Sisters
first brought their good news gospel,
Christian straight through bisexual,
standing Yangish tall.
To conjoin the Bean Brothers and Sisters,
enslaved in wombs a bit too much longer
than their corny deep green sisters,
yet rich brown and red
and forest green ready
to sprout and reforest spiral,
devouring,
yet digesting appropriately just right,
what Corn could carry and bear,
before producing their Bean creolizing
jazzy song and dance performers;
sultry street reformers
resting on a corny stalk of Yang.
Pumpkin spreading shade Earth Allies
grow across the CoOp's neighborhood,
incorporating spiritual
and natural nutritions
to feed a hungry matriarchal-patriarchal world,
rich with integrative nutritional potential,
deep with CoOp integrity
to reweave,
reforest,
Three Sister CoOps,
wherever humanity blooms,
not bleeds so much,
as and where planted,
in and out,
up and down,
back and forth
TaoTime reweaving.
A Great Transitional bean-brother
and sister
stood to take the lunch microphone
first opened up this day
to say:
If you look at a flat picture of a three-sprout braid,
it looks like oppositional Yang and Yin
are bilaterally weaving in and out
in Hypostatic Union
universally alone.
Yet that same three-dimensional braid
when felt and looked at
from at least all three-sides,
unveils a secret wu-wei Trinity
of TaoTime,
a braid for Sacred Corn
as FatherSun,
a braid for Natural Beans
as Holonic Cooperative Flowing-Spiral Spirit,
a braid for MotherEarth
Squashed Down Folks and Species
spreading lovely shade and reforesting projects
and cooperative programs,
economically and politically discouraging competing weeds
while splattering growing psychologically complex rain
where it best absorbent falls.
But, which nutritional strand is which
depends on you,
the ecopolitical view you listen to most Yang-Yin deeply,
as written in sweetgrass braids
of each Three Sisters CoOp.
"The Gift"
Communication to a friend...
Responding to what you have written, responding to your thoughts. This is a very deep and very sad write and I get it.
I would like to read the story further to see how it unfolds.
One, no matter how F’ing awful the cards drawn in this life, expects to see a “win” at some point, even if it’s a small win. I think this is a metaphor for the treadmill of life and the large amount of driving down roads and passing parcels (messages) to others (you experience also in your job). Life becomes so stilted and routine after a while, like going to sleep and waking up (when you’d rather stay in your dreams, even the nightmares are lacking routine).
I wonder sometimes, when passing the parcel (like that game we played – or some of us played – at children’s parties, when we were very very young, with the expectation of a message of mystery and elation, then the unwrap, to find just another parcel wrapped underneath it all with another message for the next player we passed the parcel to – well, I wonder, what that person hides in their journey, no matter the glossy and cheery exterior they wear in front of us, swinging their gaslight, as some kind of torture, to say, “see I’m doing so much better than you”….when perhaps they aren’t and they are hiding great depths of despair internally, where they fall fathoms daily, not reaching even the bottom but they, in their own way, are trying (boy are they trying), to find the ladder to claw their way back out of the sinkhole (built by themselves, or others), towards the light. Depression loves its camouflage fatigues. Eventually, surely the last parcel reaches the person it is intended for and when the final unwrapping occurs, what’s contained in the Pandora box, may or may not be the diamond we were expecting.
I think you should continue this – it is like the opening chapter to a novel.
Have a lovely, peaceful, safe and joyful Christmas and I think perhaps 2023 might be your Year (for all good things to come your way).
With LOVE,
that is all that matters,
through every waking moment
p.s. I expect to read your next instalment on Christmas Day.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Christmas