Long Complex Poems
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HOLDING BACK TEARS
Being a single mother is rarely appreciated,
when it is a very demanding, challenging, complex
responsibility to take on and carry on for years.
Who wants to be a single mother? I chose to.
Couples marry to be together and start a family
and do not think, want divorce or separation.
Yet, couples grow apart, change, unable to adapt
to situations, problems arising in having a family.
So, some ends up being a single mother like me
instead of staying married to a problematic
spouse or in a troublesome, exasperating, taxing
relationship, not a good example for the children.
Single parenting is very difficult for it is physically,
emotionally, mentally draining, exhausting. Tough!
You just bite the bullet and keep on going, doing the
best you can as the breadwinner and the homemaker.
You are on your own to face whatever comes your way
in maintaining the house, putting food on the table,
the children’s education, teen-agers rebellions or
defiance on top of your own emotional roller coaster.
Yet, you show a poker face and you hold back tears
for you want the children to know you are strong,
resilient, cannot be broken, being there for them
and will always be there to support and console.
The reality is you are breaking down, falling apart
inside, feeling all alone and holding back tears,
when all you wanted is somebody, someone to hold
you tight and whisper “Everything will be all right”.
I look back on those years of being a single mother,
years of holding back tears that turned my heart
into a stone for when my daughter calls on Father’s
Day telling me “Happy Father’s Day”, I cannot cry.
I cannot even shed a tear of happiness knowing
she regards me as a mother and a father. Charming!
How I wish I could. What happened to my diminutive
heart? Why is it still holding back tears? Don’t know!
8/18/21 This Or That, Vol 5 Poetry
Edward Ibeh
Chose: Holding Back Tears
My Yin and my Yang are at odds with one another
I place the blame for my Oedipus Complex squarely on the shoulders of my mother
I cannot be held responsible for the mistakes I make each day
The flaws in my character are baked into my DNA.
Maslow's Hierarchy establishes priorities from which I cannot change
My interpretation of Rorschach's inkblots suggest I am deranged
I respond to certain stimuli much the same as Pavlov's dog
I hear voices from inside my head but cannot follow the dialogue.
Schrodinger's cat may be dead or alive, the same is true for my libido
Sigmund Frued would say that is because my Id is subservient to my Super-Ego
I am sorry but our time is up, according to the clock upon the wall
You integrated some of my personalities, but you did not get them all.
1091 days. I remember having covid lying lifeless on my couch. There was no recent thought of you, as your presence within my life, I had already been without. I was in so much physical pain. I had no idea that spiritual pain could cancel that out, breaking, and weakening every connection from me to this physical world I felt miles from, still sometimes even now. One call for my fall. I felt this shock to my insides. I died. I felt my spirit leave my body trying to take my soul, to protect it from the anguish her death was sure to impose. They called this grief. A phenomenon. A complex human experience. No scientific way to get through loss quickly or to eliminate the painful feeling that comes still, when I mention your name. 5 days short of your death, 12 of your life. Still, the remainder of Eternity here without you that loss, could never be measured with time. Complex. Much like our relationship before you left. I always imagined we would eventually reconnect. I catch you up and fill you in and you’ll tell me all the new activities you enrolled yourself in, I miss it. You were so talented. Guess that chat can still happen, just will look a little different than I initially imagined. I miss you, Trina. I never thought life could be lived without you. Nearly three years and I miss you like I did when you were here. When I thought I had time to make amends. Time is not my friend. Myocardial contusion. Bruised. No, not by a physical force. But the loss of your energy, makes my heart feel sore. This doesn’t mean I am weak. It means I loved and love you with all of me. Every piece of me. Regardless of the distance between you and me. Our souls are forever bonded for our reconnection in everlasting eternity. I love you Katrina hope you are resting peacefully.
It started was back in sixth grade
I gave a boy my gold necklace to give his girlfriend
He told me I saved the day
That day I was no longer awkward
That day I felt like I fit in
The hero complex is an addiction
You are blinded by the feeling of accomplishing something that someone else can’t
You feel like you have won
You feel the same way an athlete does when he wins a race
You feel the same way a lawyer does when he wins in court
You will sacrifice yourself to get that WIN for someone
I have given of myself to the point my life was in a shambles
A friend lost his vehicle, I bought him a truck
A friend’s sister was in trouble, I bailed her out
My ex owes a debt, I’m paying it
I think that I am helping however, I am feeding my own obsession
If I only took care of myself the way I do others I would be great
If I could just stop helping and be a friend to myself I would be my own hero
04/06/2021
Written for My Obsession Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
Cat Complex
The cat suffers from paranoia
Perceiving things that are not there
Thousands of white statues chase it down the hall
We question the visibility and stability of our fury feline friend
And the unwanted guests there in
Napoleon speaks in French to it at breakfast
Kitty does not understand the little man from France
Guns, rocket launchers and ammo
Are strewn about the house and yard
Cat can not load them or pull their triggers
They are too heavy to place against its tiny head
When all is said and done
The four clumsy paws are used for climbing walls
That's all…. It gets cat calls from planet Pluto sometimes
Summoning it back where it belongs
It constantly thinks about Baltimore as a solution
Moving there permanently
Never giving a single thought for crime rates and air pollution there
Or its family back home in Atlantic City who care for it
Kitty does not own a map, can't spell geography
Failed all other subjects for that matter
The cat is in need of therapy
That is problematic since it only speaks one word
Meow
Sometimes it dreams about green pastures
Laughs out loud
Convinced it is a cow
Could I say, like the air, I've not seen it, yet, it exists?
Could I live devoid of it, as, like a storm-grasp, it twists?
It’s on the head; it’s in the heart; it’s immortal, they say;
I search, like a lost gem, yet, fail to find it anyway!
If not seen when the body dies; is it just the breath, then?
Why does it enter the frame and leave? Will it come, again?
It's within they say, yet, when the outer is cut, not found,
Each cell seems so empty like an onion peeled all around!
Like god living in a shrine, the soul lives in a body;
How Atman is Paramatman if the soul is gaudy?
I had my souls; not just one; father, mother, and siblings,
Haven't my soul gone, as they, too high, have taken their wings?
I am soul; I am body too; I am one and the same;
To this sole harmony, may anyone give any name!
The concept of soul is not simple in this world, complex,
As each one is alien to their soul now has become hex!
So, I am searching for my soul; If you too, come with me;
May yours in me enjoy the bliss, and mine in you feel... free...!
19 November 2021
Soul Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Mohammed Ali
Cassius Clay
The Legend
He was not a humble man
Everything he did, was big and grand
He taunted and barbed with poetic flair
His opponents he angered
Entertainment in the air
He was a legend, bigger than man
A champion in the ring
He often took a heroic stand
Breaking barriers of narrow minds
He defined his style in his own time
His greatest feats were not title wins
Nor his taunts and bragging sins
Inside there was a more humble man
Who stood for the downtrodden in troubled lands
Full of humility he still could sting like a bee
In the end he floats away
A softer man, of a fighter’s heart
So shed a tear, for this complex legend
Whose humble beginnings’
The butterfly brought home to his roots
God brought him back to his beginning
Cassius Clay he was… and now lives in eternity
Freed not by name
But by convictions... of his
Good deeds
Born with a complex like a tormented fugitive in a constant flight from a life of acceptance, his Life is filled with questions and complexities. There is no room
for blame. In a secret place, he was crafted skillfully; non are the same.*
Stored away in my garage are many items of relative values. Some have little
to no value and are pleading for me to tossed them. Others are just put in containers relative to their size and shape. Some totes contain various items
with distinct labels of identity. Some are boxed; some are in totes; some are very clearly 'marked'. Fragile people are Like boxes of beautiful jars and
choice pottery. Such ones must be cushioned and shielded, with postings, signs, and markings, less they be broken in a thousand pieces. There is a
Divine Mandate requiring us to be sensitive and protective of them. To do less is to be a lesser human. Always present is that inability to stand
up to conflict and withstand insensitive people. He cries easily and hurts badly. He requires special touches of love and human kindness. The 'marked
ones' are so designated, not because he is more important; but rather, because he is so very fragile, and must be handled with care. The one who
would dare to bully or mistreat him will himself be uncovered and revealed as one with much disfunction and sickness. No elasticity; No bouncing ability; No
flexibility; as if crafted in a sea of glass. He is entrenched with fragility. Finished and matured glass is highly useful, but is very vulnerable and easily
cracked and broken. Some of us are strong and solid like a rock. Some of us are weak and vulnerable like sheets of glass. We all are made in God's image
and likeness. You and I have an intrinsic worth of high and equal value. May we be as HE who notices every falling bird**, and embraces us as HIS friends.
10132017 PS Contest, Fragility, Hamilton,5P *Psalm 139:15, **Matthew 10:39
I was in my chemistry class (lecture #2) and the professor was asking a series of questions. At first, hands were flying up, the answers were easy. But as questions got more complex, and the odds of being right fell off, confidence and raised-hands faltered.
I sit the front row because I film the lectures on my iPad, and there I was, doing my usual bit - taking detailed, color coded notes. If the lecturer mentioned something, I noted it, with my #5 mechanical pencil, but that something could become a heading or a bullet-point in a larger tableau. Those, I would color code with one of several gel pens - tracing carefully over the pencil. Later, in review, I might hi-lite these points with neon, phosphorescent highlighters. (I have a strict color coding system).
I tell you all that because it describes how focused I get on my note taking in classes. I don’t usually interact much due to my filming.
Suddenly, I noticed an unusual hush. I looked up and realized, to my trauma, that the professor had addressed me. He was looking fixedly at me, bent over with his hands on his knees (he’s on a platform).
“Pardon?” I said, meekly.
“Don’t just mouth the answer,” he repeated (apparently), exasperatedly, “say it out loud!”
I thought back to his last question and I offered, “Magnesium nitride,” but he tilted his head like he was waiting for more, “gave off ammonia as it mixed with the water?” I finish the answer like a question.
“Exactly!” he said, standing back up after giving his knees a little slap with his palms. “Thanks for JOINING us,” he says, and after checking his seating chart on his lectern, he added, “MS. Vionet.”
I took a shocked umbrage at this (scolding?), my whole body turning a defensive, atomic pink. What did I do - I thought - why was he being so sassy with me?
I doubt he REALLY wants answers just called out.
It might be a long year.
Hop a train
steam far away
from the zig jagged insane.
Dream far, far away from the media blitz
the mass hysteria
that devilish jab
the mask hysteria
of pure delirium.
billions to be raked in
from
the jab
the kits
the masks
the disinfectants
one-way hospital stays.
Gates
wants to jab us to death
force us to eat his shriveled meat
In so many words, he wants to cull the herd.
Gates
is blotting out the sun
thinning our bones
slowly turning us to dust.
Hells Gates
has stage 4 God complex
but God never sported an STD.
Hop a train to a faraway place.
Stepping away from the insane.
Rubbing elbows with the homeless and hobo.
AT least they're real.
Gather and recalibrate a lost spirit.
Meditate, go deep underground.
Into the twin mirror of self and selfless.
Slide away from their plastic charms.
Sliding away from all of them.
Becoming like an earthworm.