Long Disrepair Poems
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“Life is thickly sown with thorns, and I know no other remedy than to pass quickly through them. The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater is their power to harm us.” Voltaire
In sapphire skies, so soft, serene and fair,
a balloon floats adrift in tepid air.
Nonchalant it hovers without a care.
Over and under clouds like they're not there.
It's mindful not to burn from the sun's glare.
keeping clear from branches, so not to tear.
At peace it seems, wandering unaware,
until a storm forms to cause it despair.
Gruesome gales force it to blow everywhere,
grim rain has no mercy for its welfare.
Breathless, it deflates into disrepair,
plunging, it no longer looks debonair.
The pursuit of life can become unfair,
just like the thickly sown thorns of Voltaire.
Incessantly it trods and plods
perpetual the pendulum.
So long before the abbey bells
tolled and told of hours passing
before the ticks and tocks of clocks
or shadows crept with solstice gods
no one to worship at its start
that knew not of a perfect love.
The kindest heart left drowned in tears
and wrapped in gross deformity,
yet sheltered by cathedral walls
in disrepair as much as he.
'til Esmerelda's gentle hand,
he knew no love, just hate and scorn
and like the brand from tempered flame,
it's burning love that made him strong.
So like the edifice was he,
an ugly house that held God's love
and Quasimodo's lonely heart
who'd toll the bells that silence hears.
Then in the end he found her dead
and sacrificed his mortal life
to sleep with one who truly gave
the only love he'd ever known.
Interred, yet not forsaken souls,
whose bones became entangled vines
that turned to dust when first exposed,
then blew to heaven ~ found in time...
From childhood days I’ve looked and seen
Nothing but the dark ravine, in that abyss I only knew
That I was meant for a life of never-ending blue.
Alone I sit and stare, wondering should I really care
As others view but never see the dark that flows
inside of me. My soul has felt in disrepair the days
go by and my soul lays bare, the storm within,
that screams and cries for the release of ancient ties.
The ties that bind me to this place and time, to people
that may compromise their souls for less than its
full worth, thinking they will have divine rebirth.
No guarantees on life or love, no hope is seen but
darkness in the clouds that linger up above.
Alone in this world, the void so vast it takes
over this life, the grip so tight I cannot fight
the overwhelming need that consumes me to the
point that all I want is to be free.
Sometimes an image just sticks in your mind;
Try as you might you can’t leave it behind.
One I’ll relate didn’t happen to me
But hearing about it sufficed, as you’ll see.
A colleague of mine who had students in need
Sometimes paid a home visit to get up to speed,
For meeting the parents at home would provide
Information that they might be tempted to hide.
On one such occasion, who came to the door
Was the mother, whom he’d not encountered before.
She loomed there, obese, very much in command,
With a full stick of butter she clutched in her hand.
“Come in,” she insisted, and seemed quite at ease
Though what happened next near brought my friend to his knees.
It wasn’t the home’s disrepair, but the sight
Of that mom with her butter stick, taking a bite.
Whatever he thought of the mom and her kid
Doesn’t matter today, but I’ll never be rid
Of that image – the mother, the butter, the chew
And I’ll bet now that picture will stick with you, too.
The old dirt path that led to home
Familiar surroundings all overgrown
The home, now a shell of what was once
The picket fence in disrepair
Lay where it had fallen, needing care
A gate that welcomed family and friends
Lying on the ground, rusted hinges unable to hold
Lift the gate and place back in place
Touching the gate, strange feelings emerged
The feeling when old friends meet once again
Stand and stare, tears appeared
Children once swung on the gate
Sat on the ground and exchanged stories
Talking to the gate as old friends would
If seen by others they would shake their heads
Lonely and sad, their thoughts as they journeyed
Approach where once stood a magnificent front door
Walked into the ruins as done many times before
Looked around searching for clues
When did all this destruction take place?
No answer, just creaks and groans
I hear you, I hear you, my friends of old
A gentle breeze appeared as if called
Sitting once more, back leaning against a wall
Drained of memories of long ago.
Being fair
You have come to me on bended knee
Your whole life in disrepair
Not knowing now which turn to take
Asking me to please be fair
I have walked the road of heartbreak
Alone each morning as I awoke
You left me such a long time ago
To love another for love’s sake
What were those words you spoke to me?
Love like this happens only once in life?
And you had found your one true love
You no longer wanted me as your wife
Well, I had to let you go,did I not?
To go with the true love you had found
While my heart lay in total despair
Ripped and scattered all over the ground
Please get up off your bended knee
I am so sorry for your despair
But the turn you took so long ago
Gives you the answer of me being fair
Connie Moore
December, 20 2015
churning, crazy-making firestorm
upends reason to disrepair
heightens our senses, our esteem
blinds us to flaws unseen
Oh Mother’s reckless devotion
withstands all adversity
delusional in admiration
eyes obscured, see only perfection
friendship’s less passionate attachment
bathes comfort in your presence
shoulder to shoulder in solidarity
resists all faltering objectives
but lover’s glance and glow
a rose-burst of saccharine extremism
the hummingbird of lust
attracted endlessly to Nectar’s sweet serum
yet painful powerful rejections
still intoxicate the supplicant
the moth’s vigilant pursuit of love-light
singes its wings if only to feel the warmth again
love, you dance so delicately before us
then reach back gracefully
you beacon or grab in brash enthusiasm
to overfill our souls to bursting
I have nothing against the Cinderellas
of successful society.
Cinderella finds her opportunity for freedom
for love, hopefully,
goes for it,
and it works out for her
and all the Prince Charmings,
wherever they are hiding from my life.
Anyway, all good news
as far as this story goes.
But,
the plight of Ugly StepSisters and Brothers
deserves more compassionate empathy.
True,
they borrow too heavily from Evil StepMother's playbook,
her monocultural empty-empire building manual
"How to compete for passion and pleasure
natural wealth
without sufficient impassioned
spiritual health"
Still,
StepMom didn't write this manual alone.
This scripture is as old as lack of requited love
our severed selves.
And,
what are the karmic outcomes for these Sisters,
lacking grace
to invite Cinderellas to share their space?
A decade
a year
a month
a day,
an hour,
a minute,
a moment devoid of choosing integrity's warm possibility,
humor facing absurd lust for monolithic power,
blind hope to control healthy life
at least spirited enough to dull awareness
of inevitable natural dying alone,
results in living too much lonely
consuming absence of full loving life,
producing integrity of compassioned pleasure
Disassociated disrepair
eats and addicts acids of empire-defensive despair
until nutrients of isolation mature
into toxic self-disserving Evil StepSpinsters
and bully UnBrothers
Monsters spinning tragic runaway addictions
breeding chaotic anger,
fear of our darkness, our mortal trauma terror,
our lack and misery and loss,
hating our own unredemptive suffering.
Ugly StepSisters are stuck
in silos of their own discontent
echoing Evil StepMother's voice
foolishly demanding patriarchal satisfaction
with a closed RightHand dominant fist
when grace is hers and his to choose
by merely opening Her heart
to radically compassionate
co-empathic curiosity
and win/win pleasures
of unconditional warm hospitality
for all our Cinderellas,
Prince Charmings,
more oppositionally defiant StepSisters
and homophobic UnBrothers.
They held such hopes, down deep inside
....But now the hope is shattered pride
A brand new haven in the sun
for those whose lives had just begun
This was their sweet retreat, a resting place
But now all that's left, is neglect, and sad disgrace!
The windows are dark, with no life within
No children to play, no school to begin
A door is locked and bolted...the neighborhood decays
Green grass has turned to brown, and hearts have turned to clay
Disrespect and disrepair
Broken spirits...tears...despair
With broken glass and wanton care
Just emptiness is waiting there
For those who tried to hold on tight
They tried and failed, but lost the fight
What's to become of those who lost
What bitter pills, at sorrows cost?
Where do they go to lay their heads?
No place to sleep, to make their bed?
Can't someone help, to make it right?
Where is the help for those who juggle
This constant fight, this constant struggle?
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For Judy Konos Contest: Forclosure
I remember the rumble
It seemed so distant at first, a whisper in this urban jungle
No one seemed to notice it
There was no proof,no broken glass, no fires lit
I remember the sound of it
It was like a earthquake that moved the entire continent of consciousness
While keeping everything in place
Our morals and ethics drifted further away
As we ran our rat race
I remember the thought of it
The pocket watch of tension winding us up
Unable to see who it is winding
People begin to shout, act out, and cut up
As if they were out of timing
I remember the feeling of it
Bit by bit we became disjointed from one another
No longer anointed, we quickly moved to strike down a brother
A sister, a mother, a child. We forever will walk that green mile
Yet somehow do it all with an Instagram smile
I remember the taste of it
Hypocritically bitter with a hint of lemon
As the clean rights of women get trampled and hidden
Plato's guardians only protect themselves
Those of the wealthy and those who will never tell
I remember the smell of it
Was that tear gas, a train crash, or just normal pollution?
We smell our bottled water before we drink it, hoping its the solution
Like paper mache plaster on this ecological disaster we call home
If we pay enough money, maybe we can live in a dome
I remember the sight of it
Now undeniable, issues too big to make just one liable
Its too big to fail, but not fair enough to be viable
Violence is common language, truth is in disrepair
Illusion tasty like candy, vying to be our next heir
Yet I remember
At first they came for them, and we said nothing
We became divided and chided the idea of one house of something
Where everyone is community, strangers and enemies too
All we have left now is fragments of the new rule
And the rumble. Can you hear it?