Long Clumsiness Poems
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My God is shy and generous
He knows the secret of tenderness
Just like my mother
He loves me in strange, unpredictable ways
Just like my father
I gave him my sister`s clumsiness and sincerity
My brother`s loud laugh,
My grandmother`s dark, wise eyes
He walks slowly like my grandfather
He resembles my family that
Enlightened the paths of my childhood
He sings our favorite songs,
Dazzling the universe with their beauty
He listens to me and talks to me
Sometimes I interrupt him
But he doesn`t mind
This God is powerful and confused
This God is weird, quiet and kind
When I approach him, I am filled up
With love of life
Although I know that
The sadness will return again
I see it now
flying low
over silver-spumed waves.
I am a watcher
I can enlarge the picture
zoom in
look into bright midnight eyes
as if it were I
that propelled it.
Spreading bright foils
catching the billowing blows,
a clean swell-rigged clipper
sky-sailing sailor
tacking to gypsy winds.
Within its avian breast a magnetic compass
on a pivoting gimbal,
soon to make a terrible landfall.
For a ship came upon it
a craft arrayed in the guise of a cruel crocodile,
snagged from the air it snared the voyager.
A ship blighted by its own wake,
a very flowering of evil.
A wandering navigator brutishly used,
deckhands bundling broken wings
bound it as if a flopping fish,
gaffed its body open
to a hollow of hope.
I also recall a monstrous time
inside a crocodiles smile,
a time when poetry
was cut from my lips.
Yet here I am flying
in an airplane looking down
upon England,
following an albatross
only I can see.
Few crocodilians in London
yet more perilous reptiles there,
I shall have to take more care,
plot a fairy-tale revenge
with Peter Pan’s time-frozen statue.
At last to Paris
a windborne glide tracking a dream
of slow rowing wings,
there to dine with a restless ghost
who knows well enough
how dangerous monsters
can be
on land and sea.
There to restore myself
with Baudelaire.
to remake over
an imagined albatross of a life,
return it to humanity,
should it ever want to be
that flightless.
~~~~~
“Often to pass the time on board, the crew
will catch an albatross, one of those big birds
which nonchalantly chaperone a ship
across the bitter fathoms of the sea.
Tied to the deck, this sovereign of space,
as if embarrassed by its clumsiness,
pitiably lets its great white wings
drag at its sides like a pair of unshipped oars.
How weak and awkward, even comical
this traveler but lately so adroit -
one deckhand sticks a pipestem in its beak,
another mocks the cripple that once flew!
The Poet is like this monarch of the clouds
riding the storm above the marksman's range;
exiled on the ground, hooted and jeered,
he cannot walk because of his great wings.”
- Charles Baudelaire
First his long and tender gaze. Then came his loving caresses
followed by little kisses, delicate dewdrops of sensuous sweetness
that he planted gently along my forehead, my cheeks,
the back of my neck, and around my ear lobes.
Happiness consumed me!
Butterfly kisses he showed me
with the long lashes of his beautiful dark eyes
fluttering like tiny wings against my own.
I giggled next as he rubbed his nose to mine;
The Eskimo way, he said.
As he stroked my back, his fingers lingered at my waist.
Unlike others before him, he did not grab for my body
with the clumsiness of a boy.
He let his smooth kisses linger too
so when at last I felt his tongue inside my mouth,
it was the sweetest of invasions. . . . .
Neither did he press for more than I was prepared to give,
for I was a woman-child, still clinging to chasteness,
and though I’d known him but a short time,
this magical moment was to be our one night together
before he returned to a country where I would never go.
Our brief time would become the fondest of my memories -
one to be rekindled time and time again through poetry.
Written 11/23/13 by Andrea Dietrich
for nette onclaud's contest: the BRIEF, UNFORGETTABLE MOMENT Poetry Contest
(this is honestly a new poem but I've written of this
moment so many times, it looks like all those other poems!!)
(Wems Henry Temmy Psalm 80)
I have avoid many a problem
My own way painting lines of poem
None solved or boost my morale
I just ended up being a chorale
But You; oh Lord, when You are here
My low self esteem saddened and disappear
Arrogance has filled the emptiness
Pride has always cause clumsiness
Self worth has never been of value
Challenges are to me impromptu
But You; oh Jehovah, when You show
My focus beats its best reality to grow
Many certainly don't want to fall
Some honorary adhere to its call
Attitudinal ego may not be of pride
If it turns out to fix right every tide
But You; oh God, when You give a hand
My doubts couldn't convincingly stand
Few wish but couldn't stand right
Others whose strength bear the fight
Can't conquer the least in their efforts
For on it they solely depend in comforts
But You; oh Alpha and Omega, when You hint
My mind; its influences, cautions imprint
Unseen is for compliment so nasty
Seen is weak more like a rhinoplasty
Everyone is just different in grace
To sail through huddles of time cum race
But You; oh Trinity, when You shed radiance
My heart retreats all pleasing deviance
The debt is settled on the cross
In the grave, the battle is won -- bye loss
Getting the home prepared for every guest
Training work and faith to the time of rest
Yes You; oh Jesus, when You shall tell
My ears the earthly story, let me be off hell.
Amen!
Where does it all come from...
Our every thought and what we feel?
As basic urges give way to instinct,
And thoughtful action seeks to heal.
Now some may oversimplify, this
Cause and effect stimulus and response.
As if complexity was not even present,
Only Pavlovian drooling, though nonchalance.
This may include some history and experience,
To shade and color the specific event.
After all, the difference between surprise & shock,
May lie somewhere between everything sent.
While temptation may yield to psychology,
That analysis is destined to be incomplete.
Since ignorance is the primary mentor,
And our wisdom may seem obsolete.
Is it possible for a a full understanding,
Where prediction would reward along the way?
Or does evolutionary change continue to
Raise the bar, & that will always stay.
What seems definite is only a teaser,
Just a snack to satisfy before the meal.
Because our hunger is far more curious, &
It won't settle for table scraps in the deal.
So while our interest may be endless,
We may never have the complete view.
Leaves me to wonder if it's due to our clumsiness,
While stumbling along without having a clue.
Whatever answers are there awaiting us,
I'm sure of one thing to grant me some peace.
That is no matter the origins or journey,
Our efforts will continue to know this masterpiece.
They brought me the child
long before he became a man feared for his deadly silence.
He sat at the edge of the chair
like the edge of the world itself,
watching fingers twitch,
watching mouths bend into counterfeit smiles,
watching fathers slam doors
two seconds before the storm arrived.
The others called us “too sensitive.”
But sensitivity is merely pattern recognition
without anesthesia.
He learned early
that love could arrive holding flowers
and leave carrying a weapon.
That footsteps in hallways
forecast weather better than television.
That a tightening jaw,
a shifted glance,
a laugh half a second too sharp
could predict catastrophe
with mathematical precision.
So the nervous system adapted.
Not badly.
Brilliantly.
The brain became a lighthouse
spinning across black water,
searching endlessly for wreckage.
And eventually
the search itself
became the illness.
Because when humans survive enough fires,
they begin smelling smoke
inside rainstorms.
They read danger into pauses,
betrayal into fatigue,
violence into ordinary human clumsiness.
The amygdala, overworked old sentinel,
no longer distinguishes
between a wolf
and the vigilant rabid memory of one.
This is how extremes are born.
Not from madness—
but from repetition.
A person cornered too many times
stops living in the center of the room.
One memorizes exits.
Studies eyes.
Measures tone.
Dissects every syllable
like a bomb technician clipping wires.
And the tragedy—
the terrible, clinical tragedy—
is that that child is often correct.
Just not always.
But “not always”
is where relationships come to die.
Because eventually
the loved one says:
“You think everything is an attack.”
And the wounded mind whispers back:
“No.
Only the things that look exactly like the last one.”
In my profession
we give this elegant names:
Hypervigilance,
trauma response,
hostile attribution bias.
But beneath the textbooks
it is merely this:
A human being
who learned survival then fare well.
Igneous rocks moltened, crystallized, solidified
rising towards the surface like a hot furnace
Volcanic activity of the soul, conundrum of the heart
rule out the mind and the body facilitates, erupts !
One transformative honest experience and we
arrive at a gestalt moment of truth, we are
both energies, ... "explosive and implosive"
filled with adroitness and clumsiness alike
Profound changes in ones individual essence
can be an awakening of great disturbance
Within the ring of fire, boundaries co-exist
illumination is feasible if it is undeniable !
Magnetic moments in the soul reinforced
through our dreams, hopes, and fears....
Owning both destructive and creative powers
our souls do make choices each and every day
Both volcanoes and souls contain openings
and when the day of reckoning is near
we either choose to lay dormant or explode
it all depends upon our soul's barcode...
I’ve picked it up a hundred times
yet dropped it just once more
So I give up, the blasted thing
can lay there on the floor
And stepping out onto the porch
I hit the ice and slipped
As I walked back into the house
I stubbed my toe and tripped
While dancing round in pain
I then collided with a table
For when it comes to graceful moves
I’m really quite unstable
Perhaps there is a simple way
to turn this all around
My clumsiness could work for me
each time I hit the ground
I could be a klutz for hire
stumbling for cash
I’ll charge my clients by the slip
the flip, the flop, the bash
If you need something dropped and broken
clearly I’m your man
If anyone can smash your stuff
this klutz for hire can
Perhaps you have a wall or door
that needs a good hard thump
Just be aware my going rate
is seven bucks per lump
I could knock your sister down
or trip into your aunt
Or I can make a great big mess
and kick your potted plant
And if your pets are underfoot
and adding to the drama
I’ll have to charge you extra
if I suffer blunt force trauma
There’s nothing quite as comical
and what a sight to see
as goldfish bouncing on the floor
It is my specialty
And when I fall I scream out loud
to add to the effect
I’ll see you get your money’s worth
when your whole house is wrecked
So call my number any time
My estimates are free
It’s 1-800-S T U-
M B L and E
© Mike Wise
1/30/19
For the chance of days
That numbers your ways
Declined every enemies say
To make grace counts today
As we gather celebrating gay
For the update on breath
That rejected raging death
Dating the day of your birth
To this darling sixtieth
I presume is not just my shibboleth
For the grateful heart
You have got from the start
Checking back those that depart
This Earth, though it isn't been smart
But God's mercy that impart
For the time of loneliness
That promotes God awesomeness
When others left you to clumsiness
Defining your unskillfulness
To playing thy rights to emptiness
For the gates that ajar
Of joys in hearts' scar
Shine brilliantly thy star
That orbits earthly Caspar
To present gift out of his reservoir
Every October 13th is for you
Bringing joy out of every blue.
Captain Kuni-Lemel strikes again
(even when iron not hot, but rather cold as ice)
Yours truly a day late dollar short
dollars to donuts bonafide klutz
living testes mint procreative
seminal squirt biological reproduction,
could never conceive to abort
despite countless occasions,
I blithely admit characteristics
linkedin with being a putz
going off rails as a one man train wreck
mine impossible mission to avoid
NOT running amok imagine
bull in a china shop.
Pigeon toed, I trip over me own little feet
size nine shoe small size for grown man
leaving utter disaster in his wake
synonymous when havoc strikes
chaos theory alive and well
ensues when I walk about
and dare take even one baby step.
Ever since adept with ability to crawl,
I ofttimes tumbled down the stairs,
but never did shed tears nor bawl
e'en when taking nosedive head first did fall
out the hatch of airplane
splattered, plastered, and matted
think suddenly feeling comfortably numb
joist another brick in wall
nevertheless acquiring stunt man role
paid big bucks
as *****sapien disguised as Sasquatch
(cause unkempt harried styled hair)
more times than I can remember
fell to Earth minus parachute,
which hoop fully explains
the incomprehensible drawl
earnestly and frankly harkening language
once extant within Gaul
which reverberated inside hall
of mountain (lionized) king.
Prior to any madcap misadventure
yours truly envisions his clumsiness
plays out within my third eye blind
hilarious scenario unfolds in slow motion
whereby accidental flick of wrist,
barely brushes up against
flimsy clothes rack
(the original motive begetting poem)
knee jerk involuntary reaction,
kicking obstacle clear across Compton
generating comical feedback loop
impossible mission to stop
blockchain of fateful bitcoin events.
Living amidst (amongst) disarray
courtesy the missus, whose domestic habits
never merit housekeeping seal of approval
twenty four/seven pose
a hazard to mine existence.