Long Eking Poems
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Gravitational pull like quicksand, her ebony eyes
Ripping into his outer space. He tugs at his collar,
Eking out the empty space of honeysuckle perfume.
Avant-garde arrest of his indeterminate heart -
Time like scented petals pauses — a prop
Entertaining the thought, the mockery of bachelorhood
Sought for too many years. Scented petals fall like snow,
Captivating the soul — love at first sight, can it be?
“Ariel! O Ariel!” I tunnel my way to find out your name.
People like me rarely jettison to the Milky Way.
Eagerly he made quick the great escape and married her.
1/15/2020
With traffic flowing he stands in the street
Arms stretched, hands up, commanding a halt
Obedience and fate will now compete
His adrenaline pumping like a drumbeat
His eyes shut tightly sting with warm sweat's salt
With traffic flowing he stands in the street
Flinching at each tire screech, yet never leaves his feet
As if they were glued down to the hot asphalt
Obedience and fate will now compete
The driver’s brake and squirm in their seat
Some swerve, eking by in black, white and cobalt
With traffic flowing he stands in the street
He holds position and will not retreat
His reasons hid far away and locked in a vault
Obedience and fate will now compete
How many humans are more sour than sweet
If they don’t try the brake, is he solely at fault
With traffic flowing he stands in the street
Obedience and fate will now compete
November 2, 2022
Third-Person Villanelle Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
Beeping, chirping silicon beasts;
no souls have they, to say the least.
Shrilly, shrieking, cell phones, beeping;
alarms that keep us all from sleeping.
Walking, stalking cameras gawking;
all of our privacy they’re hawking..
What happened to the common sense,
that kept those things outside our fence?
Creeping, sneaking, auto-voices speaking;
Horrid sounds, they are eking.
We’re just trying to digest;
the beastly, techo-mess.
Flying, spying drones colliding with airplanes;
it’s so asinine and insane.
It’s clear to me, we didn’t see,
The moment, common sense, took leave.
The devil wants a payment, and the angels need a check.
And the world keeps saying their ain’t no cash to get
So, you reach for the savings that your people won't release
Then you look to the heavens and the floor beneath your feat
Screaming lordy lordy where's my money gone
Then the thunder and the lighting and the water begins to come
Cause the devil wants a payment and the angels need a check
And the world keeps saying their ain’t no cash to get
Yet the people in the government are staying filthy rich
hoping that their proposals begin without a glitch
The workman in the cities coughing up a lung
Their eking out a living b/c repayment has begun
Our children are on the corners peddling out their wares
Keeping eyes to the ground avoiding others stare
The devil wants a payment, and the angels need a check
And the world keeps saying their ain’t no cash to get
Our saviors at the white house just keep babbling on
Claiming that their there for us, when really they are gone
Out proving some new theory that they really do not know
Claiming its existence, if we give it time to grow
Cause the devil wants a payment and the angels need a check
And the world keeps saying their ain’t no cash to get
Form:
“Live your fate, which is in fact your life.” Friedrich Nietzsche
“Fate, thou may afflict my body with pain
But not inflict on my spirit your strain.” By Author
***********************************************************************************************
Four times shattered by the cold hands of fate,
I often ponder on my lot to-date,
At each spell, with a major surgery
On the harsh ground of utter urgency.
To add a tasty flavour to the wine
A fall on the back bruised mid of my spine,
With no viable opted remedy
To mitigate the painful melody.
Yet, I also muse on how destiny
From definite clutches of death saved me,
Though with the aftermath of acute pains
Still lingering with stretches of sharp strains.
Oft I consider the fate of others,
With hardly someone for them to bother,
But suffering a harsher plight than I,
Yet still eking out their days witout sigh.
Does fate retribute faults of our past lives,
I wonder as harsh pains to bear I strive?
Does it carve for us a silent stepping stone,
Leading us closer to the divine zone?
Though afflicted with fate`s pain day and night
We need not lie on the bed without light,
But strive our best to tread with open eyes
Beneath the stretch of the simmering skies.
Though fate may cast an evil spell on us
We need in the sun of our life to trust,
As Fate needs to have a start and an end,
This tapestry, that destiny has penned.
The stars align, as some shrewd sages say,
To mark our course of life throughout the day,
But I wonder whether we chart our path,
Or just blindly follow fate`s whims and wrath.
Fate may have strong hands charting our stream`s source,
But we may strive to pursue our own course
And know that though the path may snake or bend,
Our spirit’s final flight is ours to tend.
Let`s hold fate as life, as guide to the shrine
Of the divine and to the godly shine,
And twinges as a blessing in disguise
That at journey`s end renders the mind wise.
Let`s consider fate`s painful condition
As leading to path of liberation
From the shackles of bodily prison
In line with rules of divine creation.
R ainbow hues in
ge ntle flowing mist,
tu mbling down, down,
dow n. Sprays of moistened
bre eze from roaring water
ca sca ding in long falling
str eams, echo thro ugh dream
fill ed chasms of gently filtered
li ght growing ever darker past
ro cky ou tcrops of granite and
mi ca, sp arkling in the sun. Trickles
of tiny rivul ets find their own path
aro und boul ders that block their way
like st one sentinals refusing passage
to the w eary trave ler, but it continues
relent lessly movi ng on its unknown
jo urney to an un knowable de stiny
lap ping ag ainst its captive channel,
ne ver able to break free, longing for
rel ease and the freedom to flo w on its
own pa th, to make its own way. Weary
fro m its never ending quest, it is ever
se eking thro ugh tumultu ous desire the
rel ief from its unending tor ment and pain.
Yet, it pers everes in its never ending
qu est to find its pl ace of rest as it
fa lls, fa lls, fa lls deeper and deeper
in to the gaping maw of the abyss
where awaits, forever more, the
inky darkness of
eternity
11/30/15
History publishes eco-political winners
and probably not mystery marginalized also-rans.
NeoCortex dominant pursuits
of growing cognitive information,
knowledge and facts,
comprehension of Earth's regenerative
and degenerative systems
and cosmological nest-network;
these objectives evolve scientific politically empowered paradigms
fueled by our collective economic investments of time and money
understanding of their relational contexts,.
All our biggest and best rational research projects
are multiculturally empowered
by anthropocentric political choices
to invest in cooperative economic promulgation relationships
of neurosystemically accessible discovery.
In this anthro-sensory enlightened market
choosing among alternative methods for comprehending
positive and negative co-relations
within an eco-politically privileged anthropocentric laboratory,
within an anthropological family,
within LeftBrain dominant articulation
of healthy-regenerative
and pathology-degenerative outcomes
within multicultural languages
a cooperatively-held paradigm of scientific method
disassociated from sacred ecological
and organically interdependent
Whole EarthTribe panentheistic
empowering and disempowering systems.
Evolution of personal and familial,
community and national
and global learning
follows a string of historically sustained
LeftBrain verbally dominant
anthropocentrically economic
and political choices
about which positive
and negative co-relationships
matter
Within our polyculturally climaxing/collapsing
Gaian Hypothesis,
and which will keep you too mysteriously
synergetically
mysteriously
intuitively
re-ligiously
sacred ecologically unpublished
and untenured
Unless you are one of the few
still eking out a living
in the indigenous wisdom
PolyTheistic
NonDualistic
pre-Anthropocene
bicamerally co-intelligent
ReLigious History of Mystery Department.
Cozy and snug
with a book by the fire
and with candlesticks lit
a cup of tea at the ready
the deep-cushioned chair
is my refuge tonight
a purring cat
and crackling logs
a mantel clock
ticking away
marking the moments
that I sit here and read
and dream through my book
as words come and go
weaving their printed spells
calling me deeper
into a world somewhere far
a world I once knew
and want to know
again and again
the lamp on the table
shines upon pages
yellowed with age
worn with thousands
of constant turnings
with eager hands
wanting to get
to the next chapter
and the next adventure
and the next moment
of comforting satisfaction
as I sit here and read
hours pass like minutes
and minutes like hours
time is useless
and numbers on clocks
have lost their effect
for the stories
bound in gilded leather
and printed on presses
of yesteryear
have tales to tell
memories to share
secrets to reveal
to those who listen
and listen carefully
with their eyes
and from the depths
of their being
as I sit here and read
consumed by
carefully crafted
sentences
and paragraphs
that lead onward
like a journey
that has no end
for it is the pleasure
of exploring
and eking out
the hidden gems
of syllables and words
that were conjured
eons ago as if
out of thin air
and into sounds,
shapes and meanings
that fell onto paper
and were given birth
by ink, sweat,
visions and forms
as I sit here and read
and sip from the cup
and sip from the book
that nourishes
my longings
to know about
all that is known
and unknown
between cover to cover
never noticing
the sun rising
or the sun setting
behind drawn curtains
that keep the world at bay
and my hungry,
searching soul
firmly ensconced
in this deep-cushioned chair
as I sit here and read,
as I sit here and read.
Mayhem, pandemonium
total chaos, bedlam, devastation.
A soft, soothing breeze turns
into a whirlwind, a hurricane causing
havoc, death, destruction and untold misery…
Is it the fault of the fair wind?
The life-giving rainfall
cool, refreshing, revitalizing,
turns into rainstorm,
violent thundershower, lightning
causing flash flood, landslide,
mass wasting and shambles…
Is it the fault of the water?
A common man
good, God-fearing,
eking out a simple livelihood,
living a frugal life but sparingly,
thrifty and weak-willed.
When politicians and priests
wreck ruin in his life and
he turns violent, causing terror…
Is this the fault of a mere man?
~10/1/17
~Best free-verse poem oct.-Dec. by John Hamilton