Long Concussed Poems
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A regal black Prince stood atop a college curb.
Standing majestically at 5'4 however, slightly more than I atop the stone.
He was narrating a past fight he had fought with a tall white antagonist; who was not I for me and the Prince were friends.
I was also of medium stature.
The Prince spoke of how he had been harassed for his race, for his essence.
I listened with keen ears and precision, watching him reanimate his nociceptive experience.
The climax reamed and swung the late summer's night into the early fall.
By no mal intent, the tale became alive for I and the Prince.
I saw the fist of a larger story; propelling perpendicularly towards my face.
As it's arch drew nigh my left arm had risen.
The arm of heart.
Some may call it a flinch, some enguard.
My arm formed a prickle elbow, acting as a makeshift buckler of feeling flesh to block my jaw.
Only to shield the Prince's rage from my mind in the nic of time.
The Prince showed remorse for he did not know the range of his strike, nor his pain.
He meant to only tell the tale.
Yet if his blow had landed, I would have fallen concussed.
As a martial artist of peace, my right hand reached to pat his shoulder, as if to say you are still and always have been my brother.
I then thanked my tempered body for it's reflexes.
It makes one ponder what a flinch may truly be.
Perhaps a reactionary response to danger, to spare our vital organs?
But I say maybe not entirely.
Perhaps it is the body's way of protecting itself from undue pain and its subsequent woes.
To preserve the soul inside the shell.
For higher amities that come to those who seek such elusive resolutions.
Sons and daughters that do will be coronated as heir, to rule the realm of humanity.
It must have happened in the night.
In the backyard, a pair of men’s shoes.
They loll now,
mouths agape and concussed.
Crows are pecking at the shoelaces.
Rain-fish splash into the uppers
bobble and plash inside leather throats.
The shoes have gained weight since dawn,
They’re water-logged by the drenching.
They cannot now be carried off
by small wet dogs, or ground hogs.
Were they abandoned,
or is this a more sinister augury?
I imagine two pale feet,
awaiting to be discovered
in another part of town.
I confess these fears to the officer;
he assures me these feelings
are quite normal.
The street seemed so much smaller now
The grime and the smell were still the same though
Engrained like the people who lived there
It was the only thing that never left him
She stayed at twenty-three
One tough girl
Christ, he still remembers the day she knocked him out
Slightly concussed, he proposed to her
Not bad for a twelve-year-old
She couldn’t stop laughing
She wasn’t marrying no wimp that day
In fact, her daily ritual was knocking him down
Mum, is love painful
If it’s true love, it can be
It was, his head was testament to that
He just kept going back for more
To give her, her due, she was happy to give it to him
One day he told her straight. I don’t care how many times you knock me down. I’m going to be your boyfriend. He waited for the punch
She kissed him
He fell down again
She starting laughing
It felt like the greatest feeling ever
They became inseparable after that
Young love had conquered
One day she told him she was going away
I’m going with you
It’s not that kind of going away
Is there another kind
It’s the dying kind of going away
Yes, but you won't die for a long time
A year the doctors said
That didn’t make sense to him
We’ll just have to make the most of it, she said
Make the most of it
The most precious year of his young life
She died the way she lived.
Demanding he did the best he could with his life
There were times when he really struggled
Times he thought of joining her
The pain in his head always changed that
Even in death, she got to him
The years passed by
He made good
She would be proud of him
The street seemed so much smaller now
The grime and the smell were still the same though
Engrained like the people who lived there
It was good to be home...
Months piled up on themselves,
became a road block.
I can still hear
the sound of falling rocks.
I am concussed by the years.
Bought a pair of new sneakers,
bought a wristwatch that counts steps,
bought a wish and a hope
from a thrift store.
In-between the turning of the days
time flips the script,
becomes a shadow on a sundial,
gives you a plow to push uphill,
the mind falls ill
becomes a landslip
bars a way.
The morning is upside and sunny,
Lilliputian restraints
pop and loosen ligaments.
I am on the road again
but taking it slow
no-place is a better place to go.
Ears pricked, waiting,
suspecting,
ever recalling
the distant sound of falling rocks.
We made a bubble of our minds -
Connected over the distance -
Our nerves together intertwined
And in their center, Our Existence -
Heartbeat to heartbeat - will to will -
Passion to passion - and to reason:
Keeping us in there from the chill
In every day - in every season -
And in the middle - in the core -
Were our own centers: In this bubble
They will be there, forevermore,
All times protected from the trouble.
The walls us from the world will keep
And in there we will be together:
In day, in night, in wake, in sleep
Like swallow safe within her feathers.
We made a bubble of our souls -
How hard it was though to sustain it!
To wait all day for you to call -
To keep away all that was tainted -
To keep alive, this heart to heart,
This mind to mind, this soul to soul,
To love you though we be apart -
And to retain this perfect whole:
The mental energy it took
Made me make most of every moment
My spirit tore, my body shook,
And I was in a passion's torment -
And then the bubble's walls concussed
As all its contents lay there scattered:
Eternal, present and the past
Of both the spirit and the matter.
The bubble burst; walls fell apart
And what was thought inside protected -
The throbbing souls, the beating hearts -
Were there, open and dissected.
It was as though the skin was flayed
As centers lay there undefended
I felt destroyed; you felt betrayed -
But something happened unintended:
I saw the beauty that is you,
You saw how much I cared for you,
I saw you from a closer view
And knew indeed that I adore you:
The bubble burst and spilt its core
But yet the dream has not been shattered:
I see you – clearer than before -
And I can love you even better.
she was a sassy little mermaid
with only one ardent wish
to wreak havoc on mankind
for introducing chips to fish
she’d sit upon that lorelei rock
and keep her constant check
and in the cold weather wore
a cardi zipped up to her neck
but when she spotted a ship
she’d strip down to her vest
which was artfully cut so it
showed off her splendid chest
she’d sing her siren song
and lure them to their doom
there’s many a lovelorn sailor
in a cold and watery tomb
one cold september morning
she was singing for her catch
and she lured a certain vessel
and there she met her match
she tried for an old hull trawler
not sure where he should be
the skipper had gone and turned
wrong way from the north sea
and he wouldn’t tell his crew
no matter what the cost
that they’d be late home
because he’d got a bit lost
then he heard our little mermaid
and her wailing was the last straw
a carefully aimed beer bottle ensured
she bother ed them no more
and while she was thus concussed
he got his sextant out
and realising his mistake
went and turned the ship about
he arrived home a day or so late
but he went and told the crew
they’d been on a secret mission
and they believed him like you do
he never thought any more
about his little slip
nor did he remember the little maid
he’d nearly brained on that eventful trip
the effect on her was terrible
she turned reclusive and very shy
those waters now are quiet and safe
near that once dread lorelei
as for those hull trawlers
they go to sea no more
cos mrs thatcher sold them out
when we lost that last cod war
The noise is a wound that won't heal
Vibrations don't let scars take hold
Held by a grip that tightens at will
No mind over matter
Because my mind is its hold
Even when seeing it coming
Light travels faster than sound after all
I can brace for impact but still
Adrenaline is injected
Muscles clench
Shaking starts
Without fail Again here I go
It is simply a noise I know
Still
car horns leave me screaming
bus brakes I am squealing
when my lover does dishes
I cringe taking cover
Still
The Noise
isn't all noise
Again my mind is its hold
be it threat or loss of control
Not all noise is my foe
fireworks and thunder are spared
and the right beat at the right time can be blared
but I have been concussed was
knocked out for three days
cussed at on my bike
blaring horns two decades
So I ask you to Please keep it down
and one more thing please
please
no parrots please.
For The Noise contest Hosted by Shadow Hamilton
Composed in the wee hours of March 6th 2017
“My tears are testimony of my devotion to Beloved;
and from those tears white lilies will grow that speak the truth.”
Rumi
I had heard the legend of her tears,
silent drops of sorrow liberating her pain,
flowing upon the tip of her voiceless lips.
Her hopes descending like blossom buds,
drowning in ripples of rampant tides,
dragging her deeper into despair,
as her words suffocated among ignorant waves.
Trials of life had infected her mind,
with a melody of melancholic vapours,
setting her adrift in misplaced uncharted waters.
Immersing further, her cries no longer echoed,
as her heart choked upon confined consciousness.
Upon the depths of concussed misconception,
under electric, earthquake, haunting horizons,
her soul lay in slumber deluded by misjudgement.
Confused between regret and remorse,
trapped within the dilemma of circumstance,
her fears set sail upon satanic seas,
but only crawled into solitary seclusion -
forming eggshell foundations.
I was no hero nor did I have a halo,
but I was born to become a martyr,
in the glory of her martyrdom,
so I unpacked my heart,
ready for the final crusade of my life.
Treading upon a path of cracked glass,
decaying with crumbling concrete,
I wandered towards her speechless screams.
Preparing to feel the personification of her pain.
Empathic nature of my spirit yearned to
rescue her from the illusions of a fathomless abyss,
to release her from her internal crucifixion -
hoping we would merge like ocean and shore.
As I reached the darkness of her door,
like a star falling from heaven,
her truth like stardust, softly sprinkled,
flourishing and nourishing through me.
I placed my heart into her hands,
as light faded out the blackness,
like an abundance of kaleidoscopic petals,
her tears now illuminated like a rainbow.
Overwhelmed in this tranquillity,
shimmering reflections of emotions,
like gentle rain cascading from my soul,
I became tearful as they nurtured my heart's garden.
I remain intoxicated in their enchantment,
kissing her sorrows away for eternity.
The most beautiful things in life cannot
be seen or touched, but can be felt by the heart.
— HELEN KELLER
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
It was just a slight sight of your beauty,
that spurred my heart to start to race.
Lust and love swam side by side in my veins—
some bound to haem, some dance to hymns.
The choice of dominance–no longer mine;
lechery, at times, sailed faster,
leaving love to gasp in breathless pretense.
Other times, love was the master.
In my brain they took to serious fight,
Both injured but neither took to flight,
My brain was concussed by their fright,
And confusion replaced their freight.
They both ran to my soul that they had stolen,
There, they tortured me with their fangs,
Their greed my spirit could no more cope with,
But they stayed on in defiance.
Their journey within me became endless,
Yet far from my heart your love stayed,
Come closer to free me of their torture,
Otherwise, my brain will soon explode.
First grade, pelted with eggs
Second grade, broke both legs
Third grade, fell down the stairs
Fourth grade, clawed by a bear
Fifth grade, ran into a tree
Sixth grade, twisted a knee
Seventh grade, concussed my head
Eighth grade, fell out of bed
Ninth grade, had meningitis
Tenth grade, appendicitis
Eleventh grade, torn hamstring
Twelfth grade, acute bee sting...
So, to allay any fears from admission committees
I wrote the following college application ditty:
You may consider me somewhat injury-prone
But I have yet to break my first wishbone
And I give you my whole-hearted assurance
That I will use my parents' health insurance