Long Careens Poems
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Blue Light Bulbs and a Bottle of Bleach and The Incandescent Must Win
(part 1)
By: J.R. Wren
A wilting flower and a blade of grass
No presumptions of the way things ought to be
Feeding plenty on light through a tinted glass
Patiently waiting and resting in what it means to be free
“Steal, Steal, Steal. Make it up and patch it.
Feel. Feel Feel. Facts don’t matter and from all myth gleans.
Reel. Reel. Reel. Fish it in and match it.
Lies from the lounge and drunken dither. -- Our ends will justify the means!”
Knowledge of privilege and equity to learn
Servers, red phones, and Benghazi aflame
Crossbones, Chicago, Philly and -- -- Her turn!
“She will win! She will win!” Crumpling papers did proclaim
Deep, deep, deep. In plain sight -- a hidden gate
“He doesn’t win. Right? -- -- Right? ---Isn’t that right?
Steep, steep. Drip from a leaking deep state
What's fusion? It's cash stowed in the store late into the night
A wilting flower and that blade of grass
May not have thoughts of what ought to be
But the Deep aim to crash through lids of glass
The steady, sure swap of twenty-one to rid of sovereign - ty
“Steal. Steal. Steal. Lick it up and stamp it.
Feel. Feel. Feel. Feed the Feds and nothing of the Deep careens
‘Real. Real. It’s real!’" TALL thinks FISA won’t catch it.
“Checked (not checked) but might be confirmed!” And the judges are part of the means
They say “check your privilege” and “equity’s sublime.”
But the phone kept ringing and a message was left
Equality and equity can’t be done at the same time
Not by the color of my skin, but a perfect dream left bereft
A blooming rose and a patch of grass
And a new child doesn’t carry what the elders see
Feeding plenty on light with no prejudice of gold or brass
Seeing no difference between daffodil or lily
Hare over turtle “and beware the snitching fox!"
“Feel, feel,feel for all our shadow’s past."
A broken doll in an empty box.
Lemon spiel and Meadow’s blast
An abrasive sponge and a bottle of bleach
Fluorescent morgue lighting - “ask for their consent!
The clinical culture is calculated for all and for each”
Ballots appear. Nanny will fear. “And soon we’ll get you out of that tent.”
See me fast, feel me low, watch me strike
as I feel myself bottom blend slow into an aqeous blood slumber
silk circulating all rotten terms as I fornunicate
the manicial social countermeasures I must employ
each day here on this Earth to stay unstillborn;vertical,
co-conscious and ever present, I juxtapose
this side of a recognizable happenstance glance of being human.
A brain beacon of contorted body contours and ugly compromises
compels my aimless, shiftless and pointless body careens
into a coincidental Metamorphisis of battle with all elements that
ever-lastingly surround my supposed derivative surveillance
ultimately leading to the judgement. None that of which I know.
I think, therefore I am? Do I even exist in this moment? am I a mistake?
Someone with a mindmeld accurate hold of our place in infinity once said these words. Am I Somebody?Anybody?Nobody?
In my destination of holy conscious efforts in entertaining my fellow "sap"-iens; in negating their intrepid wrongness of their lifelong exposure
to individual ineptiness,
their PC psycho social stupidity, bending over to all of the "socialized ****-ities' that have been sorely intro-forced upon us through corporeal/parental punishment, and other sick f--k activities for infantile/racial/sexual/religious, and all other time capsuled compliances that keep us all under intelligent.
I hereby label you as incompetents and Scumrags of the first order.
Hopefully our evolution to greater beings, worthy of an exaltation, with the sanc-tity of our planet's life in the forefront of eternity, we will endure.
You know who you are and what, to others, you have done. In the name of what?? Why? How come? Regrets? N/A.
In order for me to even look your way, I will need a viable Resume/Vita and Character references from you. I can then determine your "species" and favorability for open discussion. If u see me hitching, run me over, please.
Watching the TV coverage
Of the great government shut down
Of 2018-2019
I am reminded of a movie
As I fall asleep
Listening to the TV
Blather on and on
About what it all means
Mr. Natural pops up
And screams
"It don’t mean s….
“Dude, the endless movie
Is about to begin”!
A middle-aged white man
Down on his proverbial luck
Just been fired
Replaced by a foreign worker
Or a robot
Or just fired
Because he was no longer
Deemed useful
To the masters of the universe
If he was lucky
He'd be given a watch
And an IOU worthless pension
And the man wanders into a restaurant
Pulls out a gun
Eats his breakfast
After the official breakfast hour
Puts on a Pepe the green frog mask
Drops acid, Snorts speed
Drinks a shot of booze
And coffee smokes a joint
Snorts cocaine for good measure
and smokes a cigarette
And walks outside
steals a bus at gun point
Filled with passengers
He tells them
They are hostages
And he puts on his vest
With the dead man switch
Next to the bomb
He announces
Via tweet
He is going to take the bus
To the proverbial pot of gold
Hidden deep in a cave
And when he got there
He would release the hostages
And disappear into the mine
And never be found again
And as the bus careens around the mountain
At 100 miles an hour
The dude sprouts out
Conspiracy after conspiracy theory
About Obama the Muslim communist
secret gay working with George Soros
the Jewish money people
in league with the shapeshifting lizards
and Mueller is one of them
they are all after him
because he knows the deal
And the passengers are transfixed
Half hoping, he would make it
Half hoping, he would be blown away
And as the bus careens out of control
With the wheels falling off
And the cliff looming ahead
You realize we are all doomed
The air is crisp, cold weather
that you can sink your teeth into.
It's midwinter with a brief break
between rainy weather fronts.
My fat limping dog and I have
got to get out of the house and
find some wildness.
He lets me know of his happiness
and I ignore his comment about hypocrites
as I put his leash on and
he drags me down the trail.
"How will we ever find wildness
under these conditions?"
he barks at me.
"Maybe this time boss?
Maybe this time you will let go?"
We walk down the trail by
the storm swollen stream and
hear the same question posed in the air.
The storm stream tries hard to break free
and wreck havoc, but,
the well engineered cement banks
give it nothing to grab hold of and it
careens on past to the sea, harmlessly.
The river's only hope to spread wildness
is another storm to raise its banks.
The grass above the banks is all of a kind,
easily mowed, and no threat to the asphalt
path we walk.
There is some hope of wildness
in the windblown debris
left over from the storm.
Perhaps seeds of a hardier folk
will move in among the grasses and
the perfect line of trees
that border the trail.
Such strangers will have to hide
and take cover before the caretakers
of the trail arrive tomorrow.
They will efficiently find all wildness
from the storm and make sure that
it is all discarded and hauled to the dump.
Perhaps I am looking for nature
in all the wrong places.
Here it has been collared and leashed
and rendered docile.
Still it fights back.
My hopeful dog directs my attention to the stream
and points to an otter that sinks when I look.
"Maybe this time, boss?" he implores.
Overhead, three noisy geese, free as you please,
as insolent as if they were twenty,
announce their imminent landing
at the county water control pond.
Not all of us are on a leash yet.
Roll up to the amusement arcade.
Behold all the video games you can play -
Dodgem car driving games, smash-'em-up derbies.
Claw-crane lunge-and-snag-a-toy games,
Pop-a-shot in basketball hoops,
Pac-Man, Mario, Galaga, Street Fighter.
Way-back in the far shadowy back corner is the
Old ‘Pinball-For-Poesy’ Machine,
with lights blazing like a disco-machine.
“5 Stanzas Fires for a Buck,” reads the sign.
Come on, Come on, give it a go,
you might spark a thought or two!
So I pay my coin!
Down drops the first shiny metal shot.
I pull back the plunger thing, and let it fly!
Off it goes, ricochets off the bumpers.
Careens off the slingshots and rings.
Blasting up and down ramps, snakes and ladders.
Bells ring, lights flash, up goes the score!
Then—look out!
Just when the ball is about to go down the rabbit hole,
I flip the paddle at the bottom, timed with every twitch of nerve,
up goes the ball into the next phrase.
Up it soars, triggering flashes of memory and firecracker thoughts,
thumps, bumps and clangor in my brain.
The bells and whistles ring -
It’s a riot of sparks and sound.
Sadly then, it ends, when my time and luck runs out.
After the fifth ball drops down the abyss,
I’m out!
The poet is thrilled that someone paid to play the game.
Grateful that the reader shared their pinball plunge,
with all its bumps, thrills, bells and whistles.
Following the orbit of words and sparks,
written with the intention of meaning,
hidden between the lines, in the magician’s puzzle of suggestion.
The poet is happy for the reader to
see what they see, hear what they hear,
feel every pulse and flash inside themselves.
Without the poet casting a spell, or implying meaning,
in the telling.
Written: January 20, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Quote: “There is no sickness worse for me than words that to be kind must lie.” Aeschylus,
Line of inquiry:
truth imbibed
awaits assimilation
we feel it in our bones
in time dissolved meditation
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It lies so wisely in silence—a truth as vast as the sky,
Heart bonds are loud, and time is where secrets fly.
Another guidance from the soul is to meditate,
The benthic abyss of existence—may not captivate.
In the timeless Prometheus, ketamine never ends,
Words assail when sacrilegious with a weight of trends.
Wrapped by laceration, shadows murmur the truth,
We weave hedonistic worlds, crafted with airy youth.
No signs or manuals molded on musty scrolls,
But a heartbeat harmonious hum—echoing halls.
It mutters in muted times louder than any voice,
A celestial cadence that connects us in cool poise.
Meditation serves as a serenata for truth gems,
Sorting through shadows—to watch which hems.
In silence, we design stories woven from threads,
Into our depths, where gossamer rule treads.
In the mirror of prayer, truth makes its colors clear,
Every stroke is an enlightenment that destroys fear.
It's deemed with every heart, gavotte, and breath,
Until skills emerge from life's mellifluous wreath.
We do not grasp truth, but we acquire it with grace,
A rhapsody careens that falls into place.
It is a layer of us, shaped by the hand of time,
An idiosyncratic memorial in this changing grime.
Not everything is as it seems.
And no one is ever truly happy here,
Mostly because we're told to dump our dreams.
But no one ever addresses our needy fears.
Somehow, we've been handed the end of the rope;
Left alone to make the muddied waters crystal clear.
In the midst of all the chaos we cope,
By seeking out the comfort amidst the pain
Looking into the things that should instill hope.
What is hope, and the reality that it stains -
For anyone can see that it exists not.
Shed a tear as you watch goodness wane.
Instead, it is gratification sought
Within a world that can't make up its mind.
Instant, fleeting, with it, lost souls are bought.
Where is the path? Through what does it wind?
Curving here, breaking past the man-made walls,
Descending until the broken spirit is all one finds.
From all directions the way wards path seems to call
Not caring who the confusion leads astray
And then stepping back so as not to take the fall.
Yet the path carries on, blindly leading the foray
And everyone allows it one more fleeting move.
Blindly groping for the invisible handhold that's taken away.
When will the awakening arrive, making us prove
That we are more than simple mindless machines
Trying desperately to avoid the looks that disapprove.
Why must we carry on, strapped to a ride that careens,
Tossing us, throwing us like some rag doll in a child’s hand?
Shouldn’t there be more to this macabre scene?
Eyes open, I see all of this. Eyes closed I weep and demand -
Is this the way we had our world originally planned?
ahh...auspicious shake of good fortune.
the soil so red, smells so rich.
the allure of an ancient burial box.
my eyes, like pyres of greed.
admiring thieves have no appetency for my pillage.
the cold stone shovel carelessly careens
showers of dirt on insulted flower heads,
but i’ve no time to waste. i absolve
to tear up this plenipotentiary grave.
her mesmerizing portrait with golden bangles,
diamond earrings and rings. ahh...that heaving diamond
placed over her heart.
she must have been ‘sumptin else in her day,
but my quivering fingers will rape her jewelry.
i will not assuage your thought of me —
the jewels sparkle in my mind with intensity.
my soul leaps with joy at the door knocker box.
i’m on hands and knees, dusting away the many days
these beauties have been worm infested.
ahh...this lid, will carry me in — the creak, so sweet.
my first peek, i’m in love
with the heavy diamonds on her eyes.
i undress them first…
darkness falls, something’s gone awry —
the anguish one feels before the century’s storm.
the atrocious jolt of chillers, i feel,
as a corpse comes back to life, teeming with teeth.
at first bite, i become a slave of the night.
10/9/2019
Crazy A's Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Word List: Anguish, Awry, Auspicious, Atrocious,
Assuage, Appetency, Allure, Absolve
Winding path through the tawny wood
Hanging branches form a shadowy hood
Dangling vines each spindled fold lace
Slippery, svelte moss cloaks the base
The vented light peeps through fibrous trellis
Addled mind with beauty to encase
Swerving shadows creep down the swaying lattice
Each truncated step to efface
Fallen leaves weave a sprawling mat
Soft soles o'er silky fibers prat
Trodding o'er tender mushrooms, rendered scat
Listless feet trample each groove; probe each slat
Restless roots the rugged edges trace
The undergrowth crowds the shrinking space
Meandering route into sleepy hollow careens
Whittled bushes, saw grass the stillness gleans
Through the swaddled cradle padded soles calmly pace
The rhythmic lullaby of whistling wind heart doth embrace
Through stunted hollow into bracketed thicket
Spiny branches throw up a cumbersome picket
Each spiked shrub colludes to form a sticky wicket
Bristling, twining band is serenaded by singing cricket
Struggling through the gristly garden
My stinging heels bleed for reprieve, pardon
Just ahead, a carpeted, emerald meadow streams
My sodden feet dance into the velvety seams
Red hue adorns the western sky
As the blazing sun descends
Tears fall freely from my eyes
Prayers stifled, as daylight ends
Frightened and alone, in this cell
Sleep would bring welcome relief
From the fear, beginning to swell
Testing my will, testing my belief
Judas Iscariot, was my betrayer
Jealousy and greed, sinful traits
A single kiss delivered his savior
Choosing death, sealing his fate
The jailers adorn me with a crown
My body is beaten and bruised
In their sins they have drowned
Proclaiming me, King of the Jews
A faithful son, obeying his father
Accepting, my preordained ending
From his will I would never falter
My love for humankind is unending
Hands opened, exposing the palms
Screaming, as metal pierces the skin
Tearfully reciting my favorite psalm
Sacrificial lamb, for imagined sin
My father watching from above
As out of control my life careens
Ignoring the prayers from the dove
Turning away, refusing to intervene
I was preordained for crucifixion
For the Gentiles and Jews alike
Freely offering eternity in heaven
Ask forgiveness, receive salvation