Long Dislocated Poems
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Your aim was no amateur’s
Dislocated wings it begot
Into your cage, oh words! I coiled
Afraid you had ceased my flight
So, my dreams flapped less and less within you
The ether I once freely traversed –
Now a tiny plane within its own horizon
Can’t do anything or say anything within you
Oh words! Out you choke the air of my hopes
Being nothing taking the form of a goal
Leaving a flicker of that someone I longed
Lifeless, oh words! Is that what you want of me?
Or is it what I want for me?
To do, say and be nothing out of fear for you?
Cause I take lightly that flicker within
Knowing not the flicker can reignite
The vision for my dreams!
Oh words! You created this half-empty person
Yet that flicker screams out –
Need only change my perception of you
You are the cage that holds me
You are the key to a better me
"And he (Jesus) said to them. Be not afraid. You seek Jesus
who was crucified: he is risen; he is not here: behold the place
where they laid him." Mark 16:6
visualize in your mind
Jesus being crucified
oh, what pain he endured for us
to erase the sins of the world
until he uttered to his father
it is done . . .
but before there so much to weep about
think about the name calling
the cruelty and beatings he endured
the endless cruel whippings in the square
the pool of his blood that his mother wiped up
the placing of a crown of thorns on his head
by the drunken soldiers
the walk through the city dragging that heavy cross
while being beaten with whips all the way
given no mercy, water, or rest when he fell
and at last reaching the place
and then being nailed to that cross
his arms bound by ropes
his arms dislocated
so his hands could be in a better position for nails
and his feet crossed and also nailed
and then he was raised up
and they waited for him to die
visualize that ...
they stabbed him with a sword
to make sure he was dead
and he bled water not blood
later he was taken to a cave tomb
and a round rock placed at the entrance
but he rose from the dead
and walked among the people
and then Jesus rose up to heaven
to be with his father again
he was killed because he preached
of peace and life everlasting
and his power was feared
think about that sweet baby born in a stable
that little boy growing within the love of his mother
that young man learning of his purpose
when you look at nature
the trees and flowers blooming
and the blue oceans and seas
the rain, the wind, and the snow
the skies and clouds
the moon and stars
the seasons changing
and all the beautiful creatures
and all the people in this world
created for us by God
so, on Easter celebrate the resurrection
of Jesus with joy and thankfulness
"Jesus said ... I am the resurrection and the life, he who
believes in me will live even if he dies." John, 11:25
___________________
March 15, 2023
Poetry/Free Verse/He Is Risen
Copyright Protected ID, 03-1531-723-15
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Easter
sponsor, Regina McIntosh, Judged, 04/08/2023
First Place
Heaven’s to Mergetroid, what dire straights had the moon men gotten themselves into this time? Lunar craters were filling with nuclear waste and there was not a friend to be found at the convention. The UFO (Unified Foreign Oscillators) team was too busy singing itself silly in the far corner around the Hammond organ. It was a regular wine and dine of vacuum salesmen with dozens of oxygen masks, slamming traditional medicine and promoting laughter, pushing the sucking of gas vapors through a straw! Each new sale brought forth new tid-bits of bad breath and gafaws. The Listerine soaked tissues drifting in on silver trays from the kitchen were bound to quell the stench! Rosie the robotic maid yanked the club Presidents spandex boxer shorts up so high he squealed with pleasure! The robot bouncers had to launch wormholes into the raucous crowd to thin them out. Those still standing after that gig would have the dislocated jaws from laughing after having taken their medicine.
Finally
Uninspired, indecisive
Uninterested and depressed
Demotivated, disenchanted
Heavy stones sit on my chest
Unrelenting is this feeling
Hopefully it’s just a phase
I must disallow this madness
It’s been going on for days
Disillusioned, disappointed
I am discouraged and dismayed
The distraction is alarming
Now I feel somewhat afraid
I have lost my pace and rhythm
All my planning is derailed
Dislocated is my focus
Why do I feel like I failed?
I detest my disposition
I despise this disarray
I demand an alteration
It should start without delay
All at once I start restoring
And I fix each thought and mood
Everything comes back together
And I finally feel good.
Wendy Nipas
Summer fog.
The air thick and warm
with a closeness gathering in
the early morning as if all
that it shrouds share
a common breath.
Everything holds together,
birds, water, the pebbled shoreline,
as a cormorant dives
downwards through the still,
its underwater wings stirring
the cloudy strands
of last nights dreams.
I feel it surface somewhere
in me with a shadow
clamped in its beak.
A few early walkers
emerge, pass by, then dissolve
back into the morning without
so much as a ripple.
The fog follows me,
quietly closing up the hole
I leave. I fear if I make
a sound or move out
of this space,
the morning will collapse
into a hot, harsh and angry day,
pushing everything away,
back into the lonely enclosures
of its dislocated parts.
Delusion and Reference
(Paranoia)
Once there was only one, not fun,
So then this became two, did moo,
But my mum thought there were two,
There was her, and then guess who,
God said this, that, she said, like glue,
So her and Him had chats with another one,
This to me made still two in the room,
But the room had three to happy her,
And to the other one with her, further,
They deludedly found her valid and clever,
So they never hissed at her nor did mur,
Such that to them in the room done,
There were also three in the room there hun,
Not to be bred, so him and her and Yun,
Simmered my symptoms which decayed,
My youth and I was subjugated dismayed,
Such that I am now discharged recently,
Not newly promoted without ropes concisely,
Didn't want to placate the man walking behind,
Erroneous paranoia is best left to fester inside,
And so I don't know why health professionals sit,
Without asserting this mistake of faith which does slit,
Numbers - if functionally for other people and the kids,
There’s three, and her factor always liaisons her upper lids,
Then there are three real people in the room, lipids,
To them, at medical appointments, healthcare visits,
Meetings, excuse the syllogising of a sought parallax hits:
So the real converser, the professional, they must cohere,
That mum’s views may be quietly rejected unsaid,
Subtly accepted but then bypassed in favour of the kid,
Who needs to be pulled up from the pit of loneliness, bid,
By the health professional who must relinquish resolutely -
Through paperwork just to file away the sinner here absolutely,
Because ABC to me means that there's two in the room,
When there’s only two in the room, tested, there's two chemically, boom,
Since hormones cannot combine with a metaphysical being to boon,
He will loon when dislocated occupations and displacement loom -
A mathematician is not an essayist and neither a fit bit a goon;
And therefore, please remember that you become what you've done,
Not what you've sung and altered, so when healthcare workers are spun,
You get paranoia, not mum by ego, if they don't bravely come into the sun.
I wake up in a bath of sweat
I am late starting my journey
Weightless clothes hide my being
Protect the skin from reality, my reality
The garage door shuts up in a rearview mirror
There is nothing else but emptiness
The rose bushes prune themselves
For an artificial Californian winter
Dislocated trees pretend to whither genetically
Along the street I slide encapsulated in soundproof
I ride in a bath of distorted forms
Cannot figure out why the street ends up in stairs
I merge in an one-way freeway with ends of marine layers
Curious eyes greet somber, slow and mute police lights
I am finally free to fly and collapse in the Pacific
Slapped by wreaths with my name in purple
*
A three year old with ash blonde hair jumps up her beach towel
She runs towards the ocean in an excited déjà vu
I grab me with my two little hands and smile at my regenerated youth
An obsessive dream re-occurring - our street ending up in stairs…
Again and again…
I’m drawn to airport departure halls,
to the optimism of leaving.
The suspension of here.
The promise of there.
I like the in-between feeling of transit,
the lightness that comes from
exchanging one clock for another.
And how someplace else makes you a child,
everything new again.
And the chance to leave baggage at home,
to quarantine turbulent emotions.
And the triage of broken dreams or numbed lives
into myriad flight paths,
New Life-bound,
relocating dislocated yearnings,
destination reinventing destiny.
And flight:
the release, however brief,
from reality’s gravity,
the world simplified at 30,000 ft. to
a spread of light-bathed cotton-candy clouds.
In motion, there is possibility.
In departure, future.
In passage, faith.
In altitude, a soaring-free.
In sky voyages, horizon-crossings.
In endings, beginnings.
In boarding, a looking-forward to _______.
I like hope taking off.
A loyal gist host itself into the cage of loneliness,
Beeping through the hole of truth as a reference...
An advice of heaven on Earth would come, it hopes¿
Holding to the deep coiled inner voice of belief
But getting better seems tough for the shared drive is strafe¡
Where luck roams in death's crescent,
Forlorn to the world pleasing torture...
Time to shine in truth, here or gone?
Youths are yet strong enough undone.
Lies are once frankly shun!
It's now a delightful delivery dating fun...
A dislocated burden placed on wealth,
Cripples into Patriots' chests in order
To win struggles of days ahead at ease,
And overtake consistent affluence in a bit*
Enlivening illusions of breakthrough not born!
Yahweh is interestingly patient in time,
To serve each turn at worth to its prime.
Save each; save all in your name
Whose power can't stand the game
All swapped for the sake of fame
To bury the dead light rejecting shame
Once upon a time, there lived a tree,
Whose fruits feed millions to comfort
And under its shade, all enjoys cool breeze
But a while after the summer had gone,
A stranger cut down the tree,
No one could challenge the stranger
For his hands are heavy in the elders' own.
Billions made are for the quorum in the land,
With blunt ears open yet closed to others voice!
Little did care sparks its light on others
Provided that all is well with their own merry lives...
See love on tongues; see despairs in acts
Truly no one knows by eyes, workable facts
Until chosen to rep peace impacts
To know how words quality detracts
Spiders well patterned web stretches out each minutes
In its elastic limitless spiritual boundary
Awaiting Victims' cry in their raging plights
Without hesitation for freedom's lock
Until wonder undo the night before dawn
Then will Willing manifestation cease to gear
Oh divine hands, nature's atmospheric condition is Thou
Grace Innocent Victims' plights freedom and ache those true ones in their merry living
Days are of evil, go before us dear Father
Without You, we may be consumed in bother
Growing wings of no regulatory feather
Traveling above into the thin air father
When I am set on by grace
Human strength certainly, not my pace
Even my reasoning will have no trace
To light nights in ambush to deface
Hallelujah!
Finally after twenty two plus
years of marriage,
a husband (namely yours truly -
hitherto known as Matthew Scott Harris)
exhibits glint of care and concern
toward his significant other,
which wife bemoaned
absent expressions of love
particularly before the
honeymoon even occurred.
I readily admit shying away
from emotional intimacy,
especially toward the gal
whose pledge I trothed
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six,
(fifteen days hence)
yet even formative years (mine)
scant overtures displayed toward
me father, mother, plus
older and younger sister
(neither non twisted).
A strong suspicion predominates
neurological, psychological,
and social perturbations
commingled while said christened goodfella
developed in utero, whereat genetic quarks
sparked, manifested, and engendered
unforeseen grievous hardship
severely, inexplicably, and figuratively
dislocated, truncated, and uprooted
his promising, (albeit
short lived) blissful boyhood,
which happy go lucky preschool years
abruptly analogously came to crashing halt
soon after setting foot into first grade.
Impossible mission
to tease out telltale explanation(s)
only thru courtesy 20/20 hindsight
can hypothesis be formulated
regarding congenital
chromosomal cellular discrepancy
birthing what appeared a healthy baby
though prone to wailing
without rhyme nor reason,
especially if held
by any person except mother.
At a tender age behavioral blitzkrieg
rent asunder tenuous connections
shattering nascent aggregation
to allow, enable, and provide
healthy interpersonal development
unbeknownst what molecular processes
kickstarted, pronounced, triggered...
wayward son to recoil against humanity
(think how like magnetic poles
repel each other).
Most all mein kampf
scant communication brokered
never establishing linkedin bonds,
nor fostering emotional intimacy
despite witnessing overt caring
among parents who begat me
or siblings, who exuded
natural propensity to comfort each other.
Something so primal as to elicit
heartfelt sympathy I lacked
which aloofness generated offensiveness
essentially buttressed (with flying colors)
hermetically sealed existence (mine)
nsync livingsocial within alien nation.