Long Crash(a) Poems
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Everchanging is this universe, with many twists and different ways;
Sometimes we get up with a burst of energy, sometimes we leave things for better days.
However, we must accept, that everyday is new;
We should make the most of it, for our days on this planet are too few.
A car crash; a fire; become deaf or blind;
Anything could happen, ask yourself, what is left behind.
Have we laid a secure platform for the developing youth?;
Have we lived a life or lies, or have we always told the truth?;
Have we assisted in educating, to give everyone an even chance;
Are all young children happy? Do they still play, and sing, and dance?;
Do we remember our roots? Legends; Ancestors; and Religion?;
Do we consider everything when we make a new decision?
Why are we so focused on old battles that were faught;
Why do we keep forgetting all the new things that are taught?
Children are the leaders of tomorrow, but parents are the leaders of today;
A nation is a family;
Let only true leaders show the way.
Within each young soul lies the desperate need for peace;
No one is born evil, so why can’t the crime rate decrease?:
Let’s all set the example to make the future bright;
It starts with feeding the birds; and praying every night.
A change can only start from within;
That’s the only way that good can win.
Lead through example and show love and care;
Uplift the less fortunate, learn to give and share.
The greatest joy is found in knowing you made a change.
All it takes is a simple, thinking re-arrange.
Let’s use unity to fight the challenges of today.
We can make a difference, if we voice what we have to say.
Let’s use our skills constructively to save our environment; our Earth;
This is the only known planet that maintains both Death and Birth.
Try and prevent others from making simple, yet harmful mistakes;
Pick up that paper on the side of the road, two seconds is all that it takes.
In life there are those who follow, and those; who lead;
There can be a massive ripple effect; from just one small good deed.
We have the power to give knowledge, pass on wisdom and help others to understand;
Unity is the key to peace throughout the land.
.The survivors. Yes, that's what we call ourselves. We've lived through the terrors of life.
Gentle hands, soft spoken, safe in his arms. Obey, and listen, and the swirling melody of
love plays throughout the scene. And yet, this masquerade is always broken to reveal the
truth. Words sharper than daggers explode around our ears. Bruises appear on our skin.
We've "fallen", the clumsy females we are. We fell. A sports injury, a car crash, a freak
accident. Freak accident of hatred. Much like the lion, quiet and stalking, and then exploding
into a flurry of the hunt. Of the hurt. Swift blows, and blood drips from noses, tears stream
from eyes in a silver river of desperate please, bruises decorate us in tawnys and majestic
purples. Reminders of our "wrong doings". We need to pay for our sins. The only witness are
the walls, and the moonbeams that dance about our dizzy heads. On the ground. Steel toes
to the back. A crack. Fire. Pain. And then, a cool silence. The rage subsides, and apologies
appear. "I'll never do it again" and "I lost control" replay in the back of our heads. Our deja-
vu from the previous night. Always the same. Always the pain. The survivors. Thats what we
call ourselves. And by the dark dance of the moon against the velvet sky, as stars twinkle
like sequins, and fade into the dawn, we pick ourselves up. New excuses. New plates to buy.
A new alarm clock. New knives, doors, but no new hearts, stabbed until the hemmoragging
hurts like a firestorm. Alone. We are alone. We, the Survivors, have lived not an apocalypse,
not a plane crash, but the darkest part of our lives. Therapy can lock it away, but never
remove the dark stain of dried blood upon our souls. Lost. We come together, and escape.
We start anew, but are never the same. Dark dreams, paranoia haunting our shadows, and
the jumps that come with shattered glass of the clink of dishes. Never the same, but
stronger. What doesn't kill you is sure to leave a horrible scar, but wounds heal And while
scars remain as a reminder of the pain endured, we are, for the better, stronger. We
survived.
.
THE SQUIRREL EPISODE
First off…I don’t hate squirrels…they have a kind of rodent charm…
although they monopolize the bird feeder…I do not wish them any harm.
Squirrels and I we are all creatures on this planet…in our yard they are free to roam
but that is where our relationship ends…we don’t invite them into our home.
Deborah and I were enjoying a lovely, lazy, slow afternoon when suddenly we both jumped
after hearing from inside our chimney…a crash…a bang…a thump.
“It can’t be Santa Claus.” I said. “It’s August…much too soon.”
“I think it might be an animal…a squirrel…or a raccoon.”
The damper was closed so we waited a moment until I heard Deborah shout,
“He’s scratching…there’s an animal inside our chimney and he’s trying to get out!”
I thought this word was used only in cartoons but I heard my self yelling EEK!
before running over to the chimney so I could take a peek.
“I think it’s probably a squirrel.” I said
knowing in a battle of wits with a squirrel…I could not match him
still I ran around the house looking for something anything…any way to catch him.
I came back with a butterfly net…in hindsight I probably should have taken the broom,
Because when I returned Deborah was screaming…
“He’s out…and he’s running around the room!”
He ran into the French doors…then against a window…I took this as a plus…
It seemed as surprised as we were to see him…he was just as surprised to see us.
With butterfly net in hand I felt my courage soar…
as that squirrel was trying to get out a closed window…I opened the French door.
That squirrel took one look at me with my raised butterfly net
and Deborah clapping her hands yelling “Shoo…shoo…shoo.”
then seeing the open French door…knew exactly what to do.
I believe if he had a hat he would have tipped it…before scooting out the door…
In all my years of squirrel watching…I’d never seen one laugh before.
With the crisis over we got back to enjoying our life…
lovely, lazy and slow….
but I’m keeping that butterfly net close at hand…
because…
you never know.
I CALL IT SLEEPING AWAKE AT NIGHT I RELIVING TRAUMATIC EVENTS SOMETIMES FALLING TO SLEEP AT SIX IN THE MORNING TO FIND MY DAY FILLED WITH NAPS DREAMS REM SLEEP VIVID VISIONS THIS IS WHY I AM NEVER ALONE THE HORRID THOUGHT OF FALLING ASLEEP ON A BUS WAKING UP LOST MY THINGS TORN BUS DRIVER YELLS THIS THE LAST STOP DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU GOING NO SIR WHATS YOUR NAME I DON'T KNOW THE REALITY OF TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY MY DOCTORS AT NASA CALLS IT EARLY ONSET OF DEMENTIA SO I RUSH TO KEEP WRITING EVERYDAY ALL DAY KERPING MY BRAIN ALIVE STRICKENED WITH NARCOLEPSY THERE IS NO CURE AND ITS NOT SLEEP APNEA IT'S THE BRAIN EVERY FEW MINUTES I FALL INTO A DEEP SLEEP RATHER IN A DOCTORS OFFICE GOD FORBID FLYING A PLANE OR JUST A NORMAL JOB VERY DANGEROUS I NEVER DROVE WHICH IS A BLESSING I'D PROBABLY KILL MYSELF FROM FRIGHT READING LICENSE PLATES LOOKING FOR THREATS MY THERAPISTS SAYS THIS IS NORMAL CAUSE I WORE WIRES FOR THE FBI MY JOB WAS READING LICENSE PLATES THE DAY OF MY CRASH A PLATE READ WITNESS I WOKE UP FROM A COMA BLESSING IS MY PARTIAL BLINDNESS DAMAGED EYE SOCKET MY VISION IS GONE I CAN'T READ PLATES ANYMORE FUNNY RIGHT A FEW OF MY CONDITIONS MOST PEOPLE NEVER HEARD OF NARCOLEPSY CRIPPLED ME NO ONE ELSE IN MY FAMILY HAS IT I BELIEVE HARRIETT TUBMAN HAD IT AFTER HER HEAD INJURY HIT IN THE HEAD WITH A CAST IRON WEIGHT I HIT MY HEAD ON THE DASH AIRBAG EXPLODED MY FACE DOMESTIC VIOLENCE BEING STRUCK IN THE HEAD KNOCKED UNCONSCIOUS TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY EVENTUALLY WELL LETS KEEP WRITING THE DEEP SLEEP IN THE DAYTIME WHEN I OPEN MY EYES I'M STILL DREAMING SO IF DRAGONS ARE CHASING YOU IN YOUR DREAM WHEN YOU AWAKEN THEY STILL ARE AND THIS COULD BE EMBARRASSING AT CHURCH SCHOOL WORK SO MY DOCTORS STARTED ME ON NUVIGIL THIS KEEPS ME AWAKE ALL DAY SO I COULD SLEEP AT NIGHT AND HAVE LESS PASS OUTS DURING THE DAY SO I WRITE I WRITE I WRITE KEEPING ME CONCIOUSLY UNCONSCIOUS
I envision no romantic, grease-splattered engineer
Overseeing the direction of my particular train.
It just follows the course of the tracks laid down
Within the fractal flow of nature’s symmetry.
It curiously transports me from one sad affair to another,
Depending on which Chiquita happens to be turning my head.
My destination has always been inclined to speculation.
I have lived one singular life, but died many lonely deaths along the way.
My travels through this landscape of consciousness and self-awareness
Have often brought me to untimely terminals, via various means of derailment.
There have been lethal infections, and numerous fatal diseases,
An airplane and a helicopter crash, a murder, a head-on collision,
A tragic skydiving mishap, many bad storms at sea,
A life sentence in a Kenyan prison, overdoses from unwise decisions.
I’ve driven off a cliff at dawn and had a cardiac arrest.
But after each deadly incident, I somehow awoke to a better world.
Wrought iron spikes hammered to a hard-driven finish
Hold the rails in place until that one comes loose on the curve.
When my train gets derailed, I just begin again, and yet again,
Recycling intentions, re-establishing severed connections.
Over the years, I’ve come to realize that the final death I'll face
Will only involve some little discomfort, perhaps just a deep, sweet ache.
I can lay to rest whatever fears my unfinished dreams may embrace,
And look forward to greeting a better world when next I awake.
As someone once said, you’ll not appreciate the full extent
Of life’s train wreck till you get far enough away from it.
Then you can take in the whole awe-inspiring picture and say,
Holy ghost and good goddam, that was surely one memorable trip.
She had stood there,long enough for a verse
Standing at the window drowned in a world she could only see
Life had given her bitter herbs to drink
All her strength had been sucked up
She was like a lost silhouette
I could feel the lamentations,strong enough to crash a wall
She had come that evening sobbing
The sobs then turned to wailing
Passed by me only to feel the air push behind her
That could crash down a chameleon on a feeble twig
She had been touched in her soft spot
And her heart was bleeding
Her heart had been pricked the most
No kisses could sooth her,her hearts tenderness furnished
The world was too cruel for her
The spice of her life had looked her down
The one her love for him was beyond passion and transcended all ages
The one she sighed for contentedly as they kissed
And now the anger ranged in her
Bang!she locked us away and slept
Waking up early in the morn
Too icy and iffy
But she couldn't feel the cold
It was a time for her dizzy spells
I noticed a sparkle in her eyes and grinned
It was a sparkle of hatred
Now a beauty like hers was just but a curse
The twirling ice had covered her
But she was not feeling it at all
Tears pricking behind her eyes
She was now a romantic orphan
Not even a tale of the aiels could calm her
She laid down on the ice like a bear
Twisting wildly beneath the twigs,arching and tossing hands
The talons of love had marked her
I gathered her to myself
Shivering from the coldness wishing for death to swallow her
I felt haunted by my love for her as a friend
The silence was preceded by a long laughter
She had felt i cared for her
A wry smile tugged at her mouth's corners
She now could love herself nothing to send her senses again on a dizzy whirl
Within A Realm Few Are Ever Unfortunate Enough To Wake Up In,
Part Two
As the crying shrieks resumed and darkness squalled
ghostly apparitions flew into the bloody corridor
suddenly aware that sound and fury was again
she in her new confidence stood firm,
against fear and deathly cries against demons and ghouls,
against great clawed beasts and medusa's spitting vipers
against winged beasts seeking blood
and slithering baby dragons belching red flames
heroine renewed and sturdy shield in place,
she marched towards the one glimmer of light-
knowing hope rests on the other side
yet the great behemoth had yet to show
the three headed giant that always blocked her path,
with the ghastly odor of decaying flesh and weeping pleas
hanging from bloody claws and shreds of fresh torn souls
another hundred yards was the light and a door
she could see promise on its handle,
salvation beckoning -this way pass-
then a crash, a haughty laugh
and a huge foot stomped the path,
it had finally came,
shouting, this way thee shall never pass
not while my claws are sharp, my teeth hungry
for flesh and beating heart, oozing red
child step closer that I may smell my dessert
so that my lusts for tender meat I may sate
as she blinked it clawed at her head
a miss and then up went her dream shield and
out came her sword
she shouted, this time, this time
great epic pain and loss shall find thee....
Robert J. Lindley, 6-26-2020,
Free verse, Part Two of
( Within A Realm Few Are Ever Unfortunate Enough To Wake Up In )
Perfect Love is what makes a powerful nation
What makes hurt and depression
Fade bleakly away
Perfect Love is what makes jealousy rooth-up
What makes countries' hate
Unfold
They thought a crash - a destruction or two
Of buildings we seemed to need
They thought the killing of our citizen's
Would make us fear them
But they know not our country's Perfect Love
The Love that God has shown
For the opposite of Love isn't Hate, but Fear
And Perfect Love casteth out ALL Fear
Through our Perfect Love - We Stand Tall
And Lift our heads Up
We Rebuild our land and Fight Back
But How?
America chose war
To kill and own the Terrorists' land
To devour the skin that we so shame-
Seems to be the answer and way we so claim
But in the process - We Die
We Kill Ourselves
Slowly, this war turns from Dieing For Heart
To Dieing For Pleasure
Has America lost sight of its own Perfect Love?
You may agree, or disagree, to my opinion
But war shows the weakness of a man's conscience
War shows Fear that the attacker will corrupt
And devour their prey
IF it hadn't, the what would be the point of it
Wasting thousands to millions, maybe even billions, or dollars killing
Killing People we shouldn't, and the waste of Natural Resources of our people?
War means to show that you ain't a punk,
Or ain't as 'weak' or as 'subordinate' to other people as they think
But doesn't Perfect Love show the heart of its people?
What should we do...
I don't know
But the question should be opposed to Perfect Love
The Perfect Love we So claim.
Terror...terror from a loud crash, a loud crash through the door
the door no one thought would creak open tonight
Fueled by rage, by drugs, by frustration
mixed in with repetitive loneliness to where it's gotten sickening
And there, laying helpless
and there, laying peacefully; peacefully in slumber
the beautiful seed, the precious cargo
the easiest prey of the desperate father bearing a twisted mind
deprived of desire complete with a blurry conscious
unsure of what's right and wrong
The blasphemy sounding off the migraine in his head
is his former self faintly shouting, screaming
'Don't do it! ! ! ! What are you thinking?
This, your precious eight year old daughter, is your miracle
Did you quickly forget half your life was spent
having dinner with countless stars
craving a daughter so fully alive
Are you willing to put all of it on the line
to defile, deflower, destroy her forever
Don't go through with it please...please...'
but the simple please are brushed away like buzzing flies
The thrill of substance abuse wins once again
Terror...the stench of fear
the stench of innocence forsaken repugnant
overpowered, struggling to fight and keep the purity intact
Purity, the symbolism of an untouched soul, pure white
now cold as stone; confused, tainted, soiled
smelling of torture, smoke, alcohol; curled up in a small ball
wrapped in bloody blankets, sobbing uncontrollably
softly, gently, fiercely wondering
'Why...why...how could this happen...happen to me...'
The rain, from a distance,
Grey lines hinting existence,
Falling on faces of jagged risen earth,
A moment to remember; worth,
As the mist looks lovely on the mountains today.
A moment to remember, when all was still calm
When my worries were only worries,
And she didn’t skirt what could have been me writing a lamenting psalm,
As the rain looks lovely on the mountain in flurries.
Daily, second to second, moment to moment, jiffy to jiff,
The world spins on, whether you rise or fall from the cliff.
Carefully careful is not enough
In a world that demands you be “impossitough”
“The rain looks lovely” is still the right phrase, still the right stuff.
It can be lost, what is firmly in your grasp
It can be stolen, from God’s or Earth’s wrath.
It’s just a wink, a blink, a crash, a lightning bite from an asp,
Or a young kid not seeing a proper path.
Even so, the mountain looks lovely in its rain-washed bath.
Constant is worry, always poisoned by the fear,
That the one I love the most will be taken far when I need her near.
And just the threat had me in manic anxiousness, an easy place to steer,
But the mountains wouldn’t look as lovey without the mist; if they were clear.
Always always
The world is unbalanced
Wants to be upside down turned
Still we run these hallways
With muddled mid-sense
Waiting for the moment, we are finally burned,
And the scale tips
The car flips
But the mist looks lovely on the mountains today.