Long Confinement Poems
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Tell me what does it mean to be free?
I find myself not free but locked up in a creation that desires... creation! Freedom is not just to move beyond the walls of confinement. The walls of confinement are not just of mortar, brick, iron or wood. These walls that confine this creation are more than just walls of flesh. These walls are walls of idealism and ignorance. These walls are reinforced not by bone and marrow. But, these walls are reinforced by the unknown. For if it was known then the freedom of this creation would pass beyond the strings of entanglement and would fly to the greatest height and to the lowest depth. This creation would endeavor to dream and create. This creation would move freely from realm to realm and would be a part of the greatness that created it...
The glass of images is just a mere reflection of creation. Images are reflected from the ice of hatred. Images are reflected from the heat of illusions. Images are created from pain, sorrow and defeat, and yet, images are created from victory.
How the heart is smothered in the sorrow of defeat... Yet, the mind soars as if freedom is the energy that propels the heaviest soul. Tell me again, what is freedom? Adventure is the glow that shines from lucid eyes not hindered by life taught.
Life taught? Walls are made from experience, from damage, from the hurt of another creation. A child. A new life. A beginning fresh and untouched by creation. Adventure seen through the eyes of a child... freedom from entanglement, freedom from illusion and images.
The prison begins it's walls of confinement as each day becomes weeks and months. The walls become stronger and impenetrable as the years go by and turn quietly into decades. Hardening of the mortar brings a numbness that reaches beyond the tenderness of kindness. This hardening grows colder as the eyes no longer are lucid. There is no fear in this state of prison... Nothing can tear down these walls of confinement. Nothing!
Yet a sparkle of remembrance goes unnoticed as a new life begins and thoughts of freedom start a crack in the walls of a hardened fortress. As a bubbling brook in spring cracks the ice of a cold winter, a heart begins once again to search for the freedom that will bring to life the adventure that no image of defeat or sorrow could ever again mire the soul...
Tell me... what is freedom?
Pernell Rodocker 8/19/13
Two hundred and forty seconds or more,
Laying, fetal position in Mother’s fluids,
Fighting for air, for life
Foreshadowing his existence.
Birthed, alone
Taken from one home of solitude to
One of solitary confinement.
To us, a tragedy, to him; life.
December 3, 1930,
Before the stock market crashed
Before this child would be set aside with lost children,
Before he had a chance, he was raised by strangers.
“Institutionalized” from 3 years of age to 18 years old.
Everything being done for him, is measured doses,
Single serving packages were his normalcy,
And nurses squawking, “He’ll never be able to function on his own”
And finally, 18 years old, she came to get him out.
Let him be in the world amongst family, amongst people,
Amongst the living, instead of amongst the helpless.
This “cannot” man, got a job
Cooking for our countrymen
Caring for all encountered on a daily basis,
Permanent smile, glued to his face.
He had done everything he wanted
Even as people looked at him with sympathetic eyes,
He was oblivious to their gaze, yet he knew.
He didn’t mind, didn’t hit the nerves with this man.
He invested money
And made more than most “able” men are capable,
To him, however, it was of no consequence.
He was just as happy to smoke a cigarette and drink coffee.
O, the adversity, the near-death birth,
The late-night mugging, broken mandible,
Never disfigured his smile, or his outlook on life,
Could never dampen his demeanor.
Who ever came, or has come into contact with him, at first
Ultimately felt bad about themselves, as I did,
Never has there been a man so selfless, so unaware,
So angelic.
Like he had already transcended humanity within those
Two hundred forty seconds, and decided to stay for the Ride.
Everything was so new, so awed by life in general.
Family and friends of Larry,
Should know something they might have overlooked.
This man, rather, this man-child, although sheltered,
Institutionalized, disregarded, downtrodden by others,
Accomplished more than most men that have been referenced and revered.
never said a dull or commonplace thing, and for that he will be remembered.
Two hundred forty seconds or Less,
Laying, embracing the life he had, opened his
Eyes, and it’s December 3rd, 1930,
and Mother and son stare at each other for the first time.
1 John 4:18 (KJV)
There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.
Basically there are two paths you can walk: faith or fear. It's impossible to simultaneously trust God and not trust God. ~ Charles Stanley
I was afraid to take my first step
There was pain in falling to my knees
But I finally walked, always progressing
Into the toddler who would hurry from
One room to the next, always delighted
With my finds which led to me to explore
Everywhere I went, inside and outside
Under rocks and under beds, in closets
And beneath tables, wherever I might find
The chance to awaken my soul to insights
I was afraid to stand up and read in front
Of my classmates as a child who was learning
To know the difference in a noun and a verb
The way to speak certain sentences with a
Gentle voice or more dramatic expression
Of what was given to me on the sweet pages
That would eventually lead me to finding
The best answers, greatest treasures of
Imagination and victories, the sources of my
Hopes and dreams, encouragements and beliefs
I was afraid to listen to my heart’s soft influence
The first time I kissed someone who held the
Key to my heart and my most intimate thoughts
With their kindness and grace they could hurt me
And sway me away from the ideas to which I clung
Giving me the opportunity to grow and learn from
All the beauties they would open up to my world
Healing and enchanting. Splendors of great worth
Whispering to my spirit about faith, hope and love
Brilliant inspirations sent down from God above
I was afraid and fear sometimes gripped my soul
With talons of deep ebony which longed for a victory
This fear begged me to let go of my hopes and prayers
Live on the chains of it’s deceiving confinement
Warning me that faith would lead me to know pain
In ways that I would like to avoid, but still I choose
To do the things that brought me through the fear
Into a deeper relationship with faith, which would
Slowly lead me through all the fears I might cling to
Despite my worst anxieties, faith increased inside of me
Fear lost the victory and now faith is the winner who
Leads me down the path of hopes and dreams which
Increase every day, and strengthen me as I pray
Artfully dodging explosive solutions
pretending shackles restrained prisoner
lobbed pseudo Molotov cocktails
kindly, loosely, and mutinously linkedin
liberal short (make believe) chain
leashed faux abysmal isolated confinement
former courtly poet,
who consumed prison fare
equalling bread and thin gruel
poetical, quizzical, and rational thinking
wrought eventual gladness!
Meanwhile elsewhere within
another complex edifice
Stormy (Daniels) reign
came and went
accompanying barren
cruel don, trumpeting
issuing expansion fiat
wielding, gesticulating, brandishing...
ironclad golf club spouting art of the deal,
whereby might versus right
simultaneously Putin on the ritz
song and dance routine
crooning Ivana mock up Earth,
especially figurative roasting statesman christened
Elijah Cummings, an American politician
and civil rights advocate who served
in United States House of Representatives
for Maryland's 7th congressional district
from 1996 until his death in 2019.
That oversized ego freezer
with pouffed hair,
who shall not be named
made abominable destiny manifest
regarding eminent domain
dominion, he forcibly
relocated natives to Cajun shelters
charging them admission fees
manumission granted serving
white supremacist conveniently optioning
kids as scapegoats
re: Deferred Action for
Childhood Arrivals (DACA)
labor away migrants
grunts passive pluperfect targets
no matter forbears indigenous
to America unfortunately
been man-date to bite bullet
within badlands of El Paso
meanwhile oblivious hermit aging
barnacle encrusted manacles
absorbing cumulative dampness
no longer granting resistance
to life nor limb
timely manumission lovely bones restored
swallowed potion frothing colorful brew
contrived exquisite firearms.
Ah redeemed character
(any resemblance between
initially mentioned unfortunate soul
and living persons purely coincidental)
mentioned at outset of poem
broached out Alcatraz replica
free and clear fresh air revived
fifty shades of gray
immediately sieged moment
weakly hollered carpe diem
elixir imbued immunity
against taken hostage at gunpoint
freedmen impressed into service
while waved magic wand
whereby enslaved women
retaliated hashtagged misogynistic
took appropriate revenge
as apprenticed warrioresses!
Hour arrived,
Proclaiming first light,
As a shower of mellow sunbeams
Smiled on the foundation laid
For the structure of the man.
And he began to ascend.
Time fused together
An empirical patchwork,
Mirroring the passage of pain and joy,
And slowly and meticulously
Each part melded together,
As a solidarity formed,
And his very existence
Was tested,
As each piece of the puzzle
Fit into place.
And he stood invincible.
Highways ventured off
To ambiguous tributaries,
Triggering decisions to snap into place
And simultaneously causing consequences,
As he played the game of life.
Taking more risks,
He constantly hoped
All would be well,
But a shadow started to form in his mind.
And he wondered why.
The threshing of the merciless hammer
Sank to the bottomless pit of his heart,
And he postponed action for awhile,
As his shell showed the wear and tear
Of his sorrow.
Fine lines, weaker eyes, grayed hair
Landscaped his outward show,
Yet he still found laughter
In roundabout places.
And he pondered more.
Reality unhurriedly and deliberately crept in,
And the bitter truth hit him hard.
A barren emptiness pierced his structure.
Try as he may
To make it go away,
It stood its ground,
As a formidable foe,
Reigning in its scheming majesty,
As it devoured him whole.
And he trembled.
On auto drive,
Days and nights became one,
As a robotic sameness
Mocked and tormented him,
Engulfing his dreams and his hopes
For happiness and purpose.
He forgot about all the exciting possibilities
And relegated himself to a solitary confinement,
As the fissure widened.
And he suffered.
Out of the blue,
Fresh blueprints renovated his perception,
As reinforcement seemed inevitable-
Ready to strengthen his original splendor.
He liked the design
Because it reminded him of his original plan
Of magnitude
Of dignity
Of respect.
And he accepted the proposal.
Layers of veneer removed,
Revealing the beautiful pattern
Still buried within but not lifeless,
And the lights switched on,
As everyone saw who he truly was.
Admiration exceeded even his wildest imagination
As all who passed
Could not help but notice the change from within.
And he stood tall once again.
As everyone marveled
At the beautiful structure of the man
Oh...and hello
to you, some hours past, I
returned from counseling,
(hence this boy yent -
albeit beastie boy
figuratively basking
in fading afterglow)
great kickstarter session,
countless moments ago,
sans treatment plan,
she facilitated emotional airflow
i.e. Stephanie Dodds,
(sat straight as an arrow)
whereat this client purged, avow
hid lee, his psycho
logical reflux backflow
(Matthew Scott Harris) did crow
as said professionally trained
medicine woman actively listened,
(no doubt other male patients
similar to yours truly entertained
(alignment with see
thing hormonal concurrence,
where ego super vies iz
Id dee hot - hook line, and sinker
attributed to Sigmund Freud,
who sired, midwifed, and fathered
psychoanalytic theories)
sexual kindled fantasies,
viz being bedfellow
this soul, hood doth not bellow,
but keeps mum
(during my allotted time),
yet willingly shares
with utter strangers
intimate gal olive
hunt ting fantasy,
that doth beshadow
obviously no intent to breach
such prurient thoughts, bestow
foolscap upon mine noggin,
and most definitely blow
future appointments
with aesthetically pleasing
(tomb maa cryptic) bowwow
wing hot diggity
dog inner primate, perhaps,
and not surprisingly get brow
beaten, where dire
erect tor of facility
wilt hell me
"go take a hike to
penile solitary bungalow,"
where all manner of
libidinous desires wanna burrow
(where warren peace
can thrive hare and now),
on par with rabbit - burr reader,
which confinement would
not principally peter out
till dawning transgression vetted,
and avered final cockrow
trumpeted, norte - til last cornrow
reaped, hence unable
to thwart counterblow
permanently, doth nada
different she hate
lustful zeal from eye
dims sum – genital fateful dayglow,
thence high lee
grant ting deathblow
to testosterone laden satiety,
randy proclivity, and
concupiscent adoration from
combine nation of #endow
ments to ghost of - Grant
yule leases eyebrow
raising candy cane upon fallow
da weeder foreshadow
wing sowing field of poetically
wet dreams plying fecund,
feminine, and fertile ground
godaddy on his gangplow.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
PREFACE :
an old swing that once seated life now lays abandoned, encompassed within the
confinement of wild,unkept backyard the old man is left with. for a person, who has
been through every flavour of life, using this swing is a respite- a getaway from his
aloofness. And, more than that
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
There's a swing in the backyard, that lies unkept, hidden
that breathes through its cracks, yet remains dust laden
it glides through the wild growths, the over-grown weeds,
fireflies..in a cluster follow it along..as the wooden swing leads
it touches the farthest twig of the tree..that extends to the starry sky
leaping over the patches of green..witnessing the silence cry
at night, the swing comes to life, when it occupies a lonesome soul.
miles and high, it takes him along...and then, the memories unfold!
the crimson memories flare up, come to life.
and he's now amidst his childhood, its little games..and little lies
but soon the mortal cloud of his memories break, and it begins to rain
his watering-nostalgic eyes get so over-drenched ..that it seems hard to bear the
pain
another push, and the swing glides yet again.
and now he(the person) is pushed back to the time..when he was slender, young
and sane.
those perfect strong shoulders, and a grit that cuts through steel
soak him up in pride, as so empowered he feels.
and then, again..the swing ceases to glide..
his memories begin to fade away..like on the sand, a relentless ocean tide.
he catches his breath, as he prepares for one last ride
he thrusts his feet onto the grassy patch, and there he goes again...he watches the
swing taking him, rise.
but this time, he laments the losses he has had, the times that could've been better
the midnight moon penetrates through leaves, and on his swing it seems to scatter
comes to a halt, eventually..his swing. his memories have made him hollow
yet, another night...he'll kill his sleep, riding on the swing..shall rather watch the
fireflies follow.
Form:
Matsuo Basho: English translations of Haiku about winter, cold, rain, rains, frost, frosts, snow, snowflakes, wind, children, childhood, hail, hail stones, winter life.
Mushroom-gathering,
rushing to beat
cold evening rains.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ceremonious
hailstones
assail my hinoki hat.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Caught hatless
in a winter shower?
So it goes.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How many frosts
have tested
this pine’s mettle?
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A winter drizzle
obscures
the field’s freshcut stubble.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The drinkers’ faces
paler than the snow:
a flash of lightning.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The polished mirror
clear as snowflake petals.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The relentless wind
sharpens rocks and stones,
topples cedars.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Cold fear
desolate as a deserted
frost-crusted shack.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How marvelous,
the winter snow
will return as rain.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Children come running,
dodging jewels:
hailstones.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
At least the world has left,
unblemished and unbegrimed,
a single wooden bowl.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The bowl in question had been left by Rotsu in Osaka, and was returned undamaged seven years later. Rotsu was a Basho disciple.
The mud snail’s closed lid:
winter confinement.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Inside my hut,
watching my own breath:
winter confinement.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
So weary of Kyoto,
of the withering wind
and winter life.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I will soon be included
among the fortunate ones:
beyond winter.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I think about human freedom
I search for human liberty
I get none in human life
Humans have never carried
Freedom and liberty in bags
In mother’s womb
Surely I see no freedom, no liberty!
In the womb- world humans;
have eyes but not allowed to see
have ears but not allowed to hear
have mouth but not allowed to eat
have tongue but not allowed to taste
have limbs but not allowed to travel
have feelings but not allowed to express
have age-mates in other wombs but not allowed to visit
Umbilical cord is the only highway of interaction!
Humans tell me, is that freedom or imprisonment?
Get born and find another prison
A prison of locked- ups and denials;
love to travel but have passport and visas
love as you like, you commit fornication
love someone’s partner, you commit adultery
possess all you want, you are a thief
do as you want, break laws
no freedom to swim like fish
no freedom to fly like a bird
no freedom to sail like clouds
no freedom to relax like air
no freedom to live for ever
Humans tell me is that freedom or imprisonment?
Die and you face another imprisonment
No passport, no visas are allowed
Live in heaven only or hell only
No visit to a brother across in hell
No visit to a father across in heaven
No sending back message to earth
In hell burn and cry in eternity
In heaven sing and praise the Lord in eternity
No night, no day in heaven or hell
No tomorrow, no today, no yesterday
No ambitions, no desires, no sleeping
No hope, no second chance
Humans tell me, is that freedom or imprisonment?
What about Guantanamo Bay Prison?
What do you say about Maximum Prison?
Confinement in maximum prison is
A shadow of greater denials in womb-prison
And eternal imprisonment in heaven, in hell
Human prison is temporal but with hope
It is a shadow of the real prison in the womb
It is a picture of the real prison in the hereafter
Then which freedom, liberty do you urge for?
Like a dreamer you are chasing after white ghosts
Fighting for freedom and liberty is a jest
Freedom and liberty you enjoy is a chimera
They are feathers of what does not exist
Humans are conceived in prison, live in prison
And die to live in prison
Human existence is life imprisonment
Long ago far from Annwn, roaming the castle of Bedlam It began a house of bread to the tormented souls but sanity’s answer to Melancholy and Raving is for one to wade, through the sewer, of chaos and confusion the wild spinning of rational therapy Spinning on a throne suspended from the ceiling A dizzying carnival of madness, to no avail Open windows into disturbed minds but who’s One swell master stroke no raking progress, in the dungeons of the mind Warmer was the solitary confinement, of the straight jacket The icy baths, leeching, beatings, bloodletting, cups of fire Blistering the mind, as a silent young one rooms with a manic As the black knights of this realm sell the spoils to their starvation The political prisoners of their choosing, even the dead are sold for gold but an escape was made playing dead, to the body snatchers surprise Myrddin Wyllt’s scientific method is running into the woods vanishing before their eyes, far from the aristocratic zoo - Based on Bedlam, History’s Most Notorious Asylum and various legends