Long Darks Poems
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It’s 6:15pm. Peter, Anna, Sophy and I are studying in the common room of our suite.
“We need to get serious,” Peter whispered, but there was no subject in the declaration, so I was left confused and uncommitted, “about getting serious,” he clarified.
“I’m not sure I can get serious about a guy who doesn’t separate whites and darks in the laundry,” I say, gently.
“No,” he said, shaking his head in brief vibration, “we need to get serious about DINNER.”
“Oh!” I said, maybe a little too relieved.
“Ha!” He chortled, “YOU overthink everything!” He said, nodding his head up and down to prove it was true. “And speaking of laundry,” he continued, seeing me start to open my mouth, “the other night YOU asked me if your pastel purple panties should go with the whites or darks - so I must be an EXPERT!”
I laughed at the idea of his laundry expertise, sailing in from out of the purple like that, it was haywire. “Well,” I said, becoming introspective, “I didn’t know you’d hold onto that question like a grudge,” I said, in quiet, wounded accusation, “from now ON, maybe you should stay as far away from my panties as possible.”
“What are you two grousing about NOW?” Anna asked, looking up from her computer. “You guys are like an old married couple.”
“True THAT.” Sophie said, like a judge right before knocking her gavel to finalize a ruling.
“We weren’t arguing!” I said, looking around confusedly. I looked at Peter, who was smiling broadly, “Were we?”
“Nope,” he said, wrapping his arm around me in a bearhug, “we were flirting.”
When each day begins
and each evening ends
knowing Earth is within our redemption intent,
our commitment to Sacred Earth's restoring Grace
within ourselves,
within our families,
within our communities,
within our humane-divine
nature-spirited species,
within our multi-species relationships,
within Earth,
upon Earth,
around Earth,
through Earths emerging sacred climates
cosmology
theology
ethology,
Then those economic and political
and personal and sexual
and relational and intimate
and vulnerable co-redemptive intended activities and investments,
evolve co-empathic awarenesses,
grow moments of bilateral Grace consciousness
transpire to transubstantiate
occurring and re-occurring event patterns
and rhythm landscapes within
and climates without,
in-between these dawn and dusk sacred wonder events.
To do less,
to invest less than everything,
is to risk Win-Lose harm to oneself,
and to one's sacred democratic cooperative trust
in truths restoring justice
over lies and errors disintegrating relationship,
To cooperate nondually more, so less dualistically interpreted divisions,
and dipolar, so less bipolar competitions,
and appositional, so less oppositional assumptions
between God's HolySpirit
and MatrioticEarth's Holonic Nature.
Judeo-Christian Creation Stories
are invitations toward restoration
of primal NatureSpirit Relationship;
not judgment against the too-secular, fallen, and unredeemed.
When our teachers teach other-phobia,
then we are listening and following
and too often voting for
false fake-evangelical prophets
of God as a Wanna-Be Totalitarian Fascist,
a Hater of Evil destining HellFire Futures
more than a MultiCultural Healer
toward Love-Lives Eternal.
We identify fake-patriotism
by discerning divine-humane rights
and wrongs
of monotheistic triumphalism,
rather than Gospel integrity
of profound Love
for Sacred Earth.
When each day begins
and each evening dissolves into
Sacred Earth's restoring Grace
within ourselves,
within our families,
within our communities,
Then those economic and political
and personal and sexual
and relational and intimate
and vulnerable activities and investments,
transpire to transubstantiate.
okayReality score in the midst of the rain I'm okay
In my pains yet I gain I'm okay
My reality is assured sometimes I am bored
And in the chaos in the rain yet I'm dry I'm okay
I'm okay because I speak forth life
I'm okay in my kindred spirit I move past the strife
I'm okay while in the deepest depths of the darkness darks
I'm involved in my journey's vest in the wrong and the right I'm okay
Deepest heights highest depths
meaningful presence I am kept
I survived I'm alive I'm okay
in my gratitude further into my substitute I'm replaced
I'm rejected I'm embraced I am blessed
attested above below for sure assured resurrected standing on life's projected
I'm firmly found, I am presently bound
embrace by His righteousness my God above
showed me His I got the love
and in myself beside myself inside me I'm okay
6/3/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2023
My life has been a Tapestry
Woven of Thick and Thin.
Friends and Lovers and Children
All are threaded in.
Some Darks and a little Happiness
With some Highlights and some Lows
Some Accomplishments and Trials
My core Elements from where I began.
My life has the many Textures
Of a Life that’s been well lived
And I wouldn’t want my Tapestry
To look any other way.
I love the way that it’s turned out
The many Colors and Styles
That make up Me
Are all contained within.
Copyright Christine A Kysely November 10, 2010
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Our forest habitat
gusts breezes
across our skins,
as darkness slowly turns
toward bright sky light.
My son
who cannot walk
nor speak his name
talks vociferously forth and with
and adding as this morning breeze
together part of Her embrace,
playful tickles
across his advocating happy Yanging face
teaching out and taking in, as possible
what and whom is impossible
for any of us to see,
whether blind as he
or sighted as we
might actually hope to be.
D is an avid scooting son
toward virgin forest greetings,
able to smell and feel morning seasons and rhythms
of days and night,
dark and persuasively gusty bright
flow of solar and lunar breezes
across our democratic EarthBound skins,
nurturing solidarity
older than concrete avenues toward cities
of overwhelming unforesting,
unraveling
tribes producing what once was nutrition,
good food more than fake food,
healthy love of gusty bright mornings
over toxic repressed-yin darks,
nightmares of climate acclimation
to separating multi-sensory linguistic pathologies.
D's life is liturgy of love
blemished only by occasional aversions to entrapment
and suffering alone
when we might become possible
to produce healthier webs of cooperative nurture
together,
Dad and D
as We.
Daranyani D,
celebrating sacred forest winds
as feminine matriarchal principles
gracing his brown naked skin.
Diversity of days and holonic nightdreams,
democratic nutritional pluralism,
principles of forest reweaving civilizations
older than cities
surrounded by fading cultures of wealth
through deforesting this EarthTribe Morning
which,
on its very best warm gusty day,
has become worthy
of concelebrating Daranyani D's
forest optimizing breezes,
liturgies of EarthTribe's
Secular Out and Sacred In
brightest elder
matriarchally principled
(0)Soul bilateral sacred brain-dance,
Elder RightBrain
Still-PolyCulturating Light-RainDance
Choreographies Sacred (0)Sum EcoPolitical
BiCameral Green-Dominant.
Just like his preachy, but basically happy, ElderDad
co-eco incarnating
our forest habitat
gusts breezes
across our naked wrongs and rights,
as darkness slowly turns
toward bright returning sky light.
She was the type who dressed only in darks,
a ‘non-conformist’ teen who bathed in snark,
in black lipstick her smile did hide,
row of piercings ran above her eyes.
Her family came in October to my inn,
a bed-and-breakfast in a Victorian,
early fall I made it over into
a classic Gothic house, for a scare of two.
It was a lot of fun, so said our guests,
the town said my Haunted House was the best,
but as the goth walked in, looked from her phone,
she rolled her eyes hard and let out a groan.
She went to my mummy, Ammon-Hotap,
said,”How much toilet paper went into that?”
Seeing my Dracula, she laughed and proclaimed:
“He’s been done to death, so tired and tame.”
My bell-hop dressed himself as Wolf-man,
with the family’s baggage, he gave a hand,
she went up to him as he was working,
said,”Dude, for your sake, the big box is hiring.”
I bit back a strong urge to choke the runt,
or call her a bad name that rhymed with ‘bunt,’
so I faked a smile, went to help too,
said,”Right this way folks, I’ll show you your rooms.”
After I had the parents settled in,
I asked the goth girl,”Do you need anything?”
She gave me a look, said,”Before you go,
I need the WiFi password, for my phone.”
I shrugged and said,”We won’t have internet.”
And she let out a shriek that awoke the dead!
Never before had I heard such a scream,
it was probably heard by half the county.
All the ghosts and goblins did not do the trick,
but you take the gadgets, it gets scary quick.
I guess next year I’ll have to change the display,
to reflect what terrifies the kids these days.
Long lasting eternal love,
Always binding amongst the air,
The trees can breath the overloaded moments of happiness,
The Love I dreamt came true...
Trees eyes rolling,
Me Laughing,
You enlightening my world,
Shades enjoying the silence of sleeps,
The Love I dreamt came true...
The people fading,
Things passing by as light,
The darks eventually brightens,
Baded the tragedies,
The Love My Last Came true...
The eyes I love shines,
Me Looking at the ocean in those black depths,
The scenery turns blue to orange to black,
Still Star gazing beside you,
The love I dreamt came true...
Each artist stroke created an illusion of depth, color, and placement by contasting colors,
lights and darks the picture comes alive...A life that carries on into hearts and minds as long
as that picture lives...It seems as though one know this person through the eyes of the
artist...In pictures where one knows just knows that someone else is there...One's
imagination can run wild with ideas of who this person is and what relationship to others in
the painting...As in "Summertime" 1894-1895 Mary Cassatt (1845-1926) Oil on Canvas..Who
is rowing the boat? He must really love this lovely delicate woman and precious child to row
the boat for their enjoyment...He must look at her with eyes of love that says I would do
anything for you even lay down my life if necessary..
Darkness stumbled as if fell
offering glimpses of hope
then with oil slick ease
it spread itself
decapitating pins of light
were my thoughts influencing the darks movements
or were my tired eyes tricked
refusing their rub
unsure of the outcome
my ears now catching rustled leaves
which seem to bend the winds will
Trembled hand reaching into the unseen
probing while shadow tendrils
seem to pull it
further into the darkness garb
Slow the thrum
that tries to break from beneath
my ribcage
breathing slower
twisting neck
hopeful of some respite
but nor a candle flicker
or a welcome homestead light
A cracking twig pulls focus
and shapeless form
in mind or eye
blend effortlessly with night
the Pit of Hell
I had dream
a broken thoughts
Of strange nightmares
darkened my dark
Lighted by thick darkness
no rules no responsibility no order
beautified by darkness melody by wailings
Coloured by horrors,
horrors you have never never seen
In the fragility of my dreams
The last of hope is lost there
even the dead prefers the grave
in the grave is RIP
In the pit hell no peace is found
and calmness is noised by voices
Of wailing, weeping men
No corrections there ,no promotion
all insignias are melted all ranks ground
In the fragility of my dreams
all Pride is powdered
mixed with the fire to the boil
no recommendations ,no respect
no reprimands
No injury time ,no first half no second half
no penalties, no referees, no timing
the game keeps on playing, the ball keeps on rolling
rolling and never stopping~~~~~~~`~````~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~`~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~````~~~~~~~~
No day, no night no air,
no breath, yet no death~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
your enemies become your friends
no contention only one common goal
;Pains pains pains with hands like darks fangs
deepened down the brain emmmmmmmm~~~~~
The greatest mystery;
burns but never ashes
only strengthens
worms feed ease
death is sent parking
pain is the foundation
The cries of wailing men
like the roaring of millions
of lions
Be warned
Behold He cometh
In His wings of Glory!!!
I bubbled out my sleep
to remain whole again
In the fragility of my dreams
26/4/2020