Long Detonating Poems
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My senior minister just now
pointed out and in toward Washington
aware of this extraordinary Time.
Violence separates us
from the ordinary
every time,
she speaks from her own experience.
I quickly agree.
Then, notice ways I do not agree
if violence denotes
daily feelings of detonating violation.
Violence does not separate military time
from ordinary civilian time;
we call that chronic stress disorder,
mental problems,
spiritual issues,
weaponized opposition.
Violence does not separate
poor people
marginalized people
ignored, neglected, and abused species,
animals,
trees,
rivers,
oceans,
soil,
air,
Earth,
from ordinary
Business As Usual Time.
She reminds me
of two opposing experiences
in my own life,
white adult male privilege,
where violence is what happens to other people,
and gay male child,
all growed up in a homo-hate environment
where ordinary violence was what I deserved
if I were caught
being me.
We want violence to be the exception
to cooperative economics,
nonviolent communication,
restorative EarthJustice politics,
empowerment,
enlightening experiences
of multicultural healthy wealth
for all EarthCreatures
and living ecosystems.
Still,
on this dark night
it feels hard to painfully remember
that violence is more exceptional
to ordinary experience
for some Haves
as compared with HaveNots.
Tears and laughter an emotional lift;
Raw honesty heart on the page
like True North poetry is a gift;
When the peace holding you goes adrift
read each verse and smell the sage,
tears and laugher an emotional lift;
Each line composed slowly or swift
you escape from reality’s cage,
like True North poetry is a gift;
A live wire clenched in your fist
finally detonating all the rage,
tears and laughter an emotional lift;
Penning a contagious paradigm shift
finding the others who slowly engage,
like True North poetry is a gift;
With each line a lantern is lit
each phrase taking center stage;
Tears and laughter an emotional lift,
like True North poetry is a gift.
Forty million stars aglow
Neath a midnight satin sky
While a dark sensuous serenade lurks
Astride the breeze in ambush wantonly
The temptress moon suspiciously hangs low
A magical atmosphere
It sets the tone for romance
Love’s breath is in the air infectuous
As arm in arm by the seashore we stroll
Breathing in the chilly seasalt freshness
Love’s slow dance voluptuous
Pure youthful and unblemished
Detonating carefree exuberance
Glitters glint with every ludic footstep
As the moonlight sprinkles her magic dust
Forever eternally
Wishing time could just stand still
Divine perfection in every moment
Tonight’s unparalleled emotion shared
Frozen to be remembered for all times
Timid smiles turn to kisses
As two hearts entwine as one
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
To death the inaccessible, the never-pleadable,
start whispering, like shepherds in the fog,
lost in their utter boundlessness.
Stand and talk about the night.
I know it can be done with a mutter, stand
and listen to the walls crumbling, the projectiles
detonating, windows shattering, showering you with
broken glass.
In all the cautions you were using, my friend, you
failed to run downstairs, a veritable fount of hope
undeserved. And now I must entertain your corpse
lying motionless for days, until the sirens stop and
the digging in the park begins.
You do not hear sighs and laments
of the people who suffer by virtue of
your slaughter? Sleep my friend, in your dark cozy shelter,
for the benefit of a nation.
My father died when I was seven.
Like a girl in a museum I'm drawn to his pictures - those inadequate reproductions hypnotize me
What can pictures give? Coal-blue eyes, a knowing look. They exist, for me, like Cassandra of Troy, full of endless secrets that can never be told.
A snowy, ice slickened, twilight-blue rush hour parade - hundreds of grimy cars rushing, rushing ... somewhere.
Why do the details I can't remember haunt me so?
A flash of light, the tearing of metal like the screaming of dogs in a reeling, devouring dance of energy.
The nuclear family detonating with death inches away.
Everyone was asking, "What do you remember?"
"I don't know," 7 year old me said.
Sometimes, as I fall asleep, memories of him - which I hold dear - come to me like the ghosts of departed friends. Image after image in the embracing dark.
Why is it the further away you get, the more I need you?
Those images and that voice are strangely silent in the morning as I'm, once again, awakened to a world I'd rather reassemble.
We are ladies-in-waiting and martyrs,
as tears are hardened like trails
of muddy barracks…
yet in the aggressive power- courts;
each detonating bullet hemorrhages
all veins of war- torn flesh ,
our stained faces pretending to play
and underplay the hurt of wounds within.
How long are those late twilights
as we anticipate a riddled uncertainty
within our homes' rotten gates and dim lamps
for the screeching angst to halt. cease:
The radio blasts hideous self-pity
into the stings, the bladder of evenings
when a combat fires deathly pellets
through broken hearts of our sons, husbands :
Will daytime become Aurora’s reward?
Maidens of hope, we wail and quaver
for men in camouflage… dear life, speak!
Are they lost. dead. or agile?…
pained, we remain mute ladies-in-waiting.
~*~
Contest of Broken Wings: Broken-Hearted Poems
Written 10/14/2017
housed within mine impenetrable hermetically
sealed invisible bubble
draped with blackened Hades
hued habiliment therein dwelt
sinister saboteur mastermind marauder of the Hubble
who demanded sacrifice to traverse
river styx with unadulterated gelt
which known phantasmagorical
donning double dutchmen's britches
whose piercing fiery ocular presence unseen but felt
thine true self amidst the aftermath
from Armageddon rubble
astride charred global ruins
entire civilization did melt
entire planet prognosticated
by Maya sages with 11th hour stubble
birthed this Darth Vader nemesis
with evil upon earth he did pelt
annihilating mankind, the derelict species
that fueled trouble
hence evil twin appointed apocalyptic
malevolence spelt
with mass crematorium desecration
left horrific blistering welt!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
countdown to *****sapiens extinction
predicted millenniums in past
to occur December 21 two thousand
and twelve after common era
whereby catastrophic spark detonating
inferno incinerating blast
eradicating extant flora and fauna
bereft sans hegira
with no means to interrupt the dusk key die
since dawn of civilization cast.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
impossible to escape ominous predetermined
fate of human rat race
nor turn back hands of time with origin
of species on clock face
thus ticking closer to hour of doomsday
without faith to brace
allowing, enabling and providing Gaia
to redeem terrestrial space
vestiges of teeming billions soon
erased criminal minds without a trace
forcefully relinquishing simians
planetary stranglehold amazing grace
proffering tabula rasa for another
dominant species to claim the place.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
sirens promulgate emergency toward
impending inescapable cataclysm
yet no place to run or hide lest one boards
a rocket light-years away
which makes suspense thrillers
birthed by John Grisham
enviable plot to keep total Earths’
destruction at bay.
Form:
Countdown to *****sapiens extinction
predicted millenniums in past
ordained but never occurred December 21
two thousand and twelve after common era
whereby catastrophic spark
detonating inferno incinerating blast
eradicating extant flora and fauna
activating bereft hegira
with no means to interrupt the die
since the dawn of civilization cast,
but last minute reprieve granted.
Impossible mission to escape ominous
predetermined fate of human rat race,
nor turn back hands of time
with origin of species on clock face
thus ticking closer to hour of doomsday
without faith to brace
allowing, enabling and providing Gaia
to redeem terrestrial space
vestiges of teeming billions soon erased
criminal minds without evidence traced
forcefully relinquishing simians
planetary stranglehold amazing grace
proffering tabula rasa
for another dominant species to claim the place.
Sirens promulgate emergency impending
toward inescapable cataclysm
yet no place to run or hide
lest one boards a rocket light-years away
which makes suspense thrillers
birthed by John Grisham
enviable plot to keep
total Earth's destruction at bay.
Matthew Scott Harris, a lifetime America Online
meme bur hastens to convey dire
crisis sparking to offer electric nom de plume
a papa who did help sire
deux darling daughters,
now grown into young gals
yet for ages hive stung
with hurt early, whence fatherhood did fire
meow n childhood's end fostering people
strangers even fork getting this communication,
per S0S sprinkled with auk shucks corny,
egret - letting opportunities take flight aspire
now pleasures soft as gossamer feather bedding
down play hardened angst riddled psyche, where ire
Ronny gully stubbornly thrives
amidst adversity as father time spins gyre
row scope at greased lightning speed,
intimating with dead reckoning to hire
grim reaper, who whiz patient as Job,
and exemplary at ridding mire
and muck bogs down this dada robbing
existence with joie de vivre, where funeral pyre
doth flickr-beckoning GoDaddy, cuz
Juno I haint gonna hear angelic choir
or equivalent enlightenment re:
home sweet home, this atheist doggedly tire
so haim trying keep sea legs
one step ahead of tipping point
envision self pitched into abyss -
thus finally ends discombobulated wire.
The marriage proposal
like a forced march
through Fort Jackson, a backpack
Full of chert beating on his spine.
He stood his ground with her.
His actions spoke volumes.
Good soldiers die with assurance.
No romance in war.
Refreshingly quiet,
The dutiful tour.
She paced herself sleepy.
She could rest in peace.
Honor the hero.
(He'd saved her once.)
Uniform with purpose.
Fight the good fight.
The battle impressed.
Things escalated.
Orders got shouted.
Ammunition, manufactured.
Grenades for detonating.
Entire minefields laid.
(Dangerous territory:
Don't play the field.)
Tanks roll in now.
She runs for cover.
Still he stands strong.
Warriors don't yield.
Until there is torture.
Torture's illegal.
But you know what gets said
About love, and real war.
They'd die for each other
But living, so different.
They live with surrender:
Embattlement, love.
Margaritas in a blender,
Sans the lime juice, soon will render
recipes for all-night benders.
It's party time, with fun galore!
Supplies are low; it's time for more.
Against advice, drive to the store,
hit the wall and crunch the fender.
Your girlfriend's car, and she's aghast;
the evening going downhill fast.
Your hookup chances likely passed;
spend the late hours swiping Tinder.
Bombs detonating in your head...
What might that be that's in your bed?
You feel the rising sense of dread,
not so sure about the gender…
----------
A Zejel, a Spanish form pronounced 'the-hell'.
aaa bbba ccca ddda with 8-syllable lines (not required)
A purely fictional poem based on the pronunciation of the form :-)