Long Entertaining Poems
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Drug Addiction and suicide are no joke.
Some people find it entertaining when those individuals croak.
Recovering and living I've seen both sides
I just wish people could live their lives.
Whether it's a pill, powder, or a needle
This epidemic can be unspeakable.
Whether it's a rope, gun, or a razor.
Society can make you feel crazier.
The addictions and the feelings are real
But unfortunately not everyone can heal
These things are not one bit bias.
Our surroundings are what supply us.
I've lost many to these addictions.
I was lucky enough to leave these conditions.
Ones I've loved and lost I wont forget.
Not helping more is definitely a regret.
There was a boy that was 18yrs old.
His heart not one bit cold.
Always laughing and smiling.
But on the inside he was dying.
He couldn't deal with the pain no more.
He felt it deep inside of his core.
At home he took a gun to his head.
That's where his parents found him dead.
There was a girl that was 22yrs of age.
Always in life she was engaged.
Her huge hugs that held me tight.
It seemed her life was full of light.
But then one day just changed it all.
I guess she felt she couldn't fall.
A needle in her arm led her to an overdose.
Lost yet another one that was so close.
A hard working man 37 and strong.
Always made people fell like they belong.
Family was his always his number one.
He got clean and figured he was done.
But the addiction took over one night.
Unfortunately he couldn't keep the fight.
The needle took him to a new place.
Now our earth cant ever see his face.
Beautiful and young another one.
Always happy and free and we had fun.
We would joke and laugh through the night.
Life had its struggles and that was in sight.
She couldn't continue on no more.
Her insides became way to sore.
She took her own life in a blink of an eye.
Didnt tell anyone she wanted to die.
26 a mother, still young and free.
Always was a happy smile she could see.
She had no fears in the world.
Everything in life must have twirled.
She gave in to her addictions.
She believed in every last conviction.
Her life was taken by an overdose.
There's no set lethal dose.
They dont all end bad, some turn out right.
Some are accidental, others are what's in sight.
But education and understanding is key.
If lowering the count is what we want to see.
Studying history
tries to be objectively subjective,
at its best
when also a comparative study of Sacred Plantings and Harvests.
Not a coincidence,
unfortunately,
that when I studied Christian Church history,
we discovered a not-so-very-catholic co-arising GreatMen picture story
of historic and theological harvest,
but not necessarily ecological
because more anthropocentric objectives of Earth's history.
Yet studying historic development of SkyWoman-resourced Turtle Island
is still largely confined to specialists
in EcoFeminist EcoPolitical Ancient History Compartments
of WhoCares Sacred Plantings and Harvests,
still RightBrain Yin-nurture oppression,
suppression,
within this objective-subjective
How to best deep learn ecopolitical history
of Earth's sciences
and cultural GreatMen and SacredGoddess religions
and all things patriarchal-matriarchal enculturing
Left with Right
Yang with Yin, and not so much Yang v poor little dualdark Yin,
counter-balancing in-between
Tipping Points of Sacred Plantings and Harvest Networks,
CoOperative Investments and EarthTribe's ReInvestments
in (0)-Sum/Soul Sacred Seven ReGenerations
of MatriarchalEarth
historically studying objective-subjective
CoOperative BiCameral Tao-Networks.
In this alternative Left with Right ecofeminist universe,
it is immediately transparent
to all five co-empathic senses
why Donald Trump
would be much more GreatMen entertaining,
rather than PathologicalMan alarming,
as a Public CrossDresser,
trying to walk in his wife's stilettos,
right behind her,
neither too left nor right,
where he belongs
if he knows what's best for him
tonight.
And,
while I totally get it about not drinking alcohol,
I really do think Medical Marijuana
should be deeply and widely prescribed
within the District of Columbia
in response to our current epidemic
of Yang v Yin Oppositional Disorder.
Maybe we could at least cooperatively agree
on a health and climate care budget for
Balancing Sacred EgoPlantings with EcoHarvests.
And maybe think about
how our melting icecap and glacier harvesting issues
may be both related and unrelated to
planting 12 foot reptiles
hunting vulnerable prey on MainStreet Texas and Florida,
which seems not so good for national health care
or defense
or security,
or even anything resembling GreatMen global rationality.
If my poetry moves you to witness to stranger
Just know that I'm touched that you're "sharing my ride,"
For the fact is that giving can be fraught with danger,
But those that it calls feel much warmer inside!
I have so little knowledge to call my invention
Some came from my parents, from people I've met
But the gift of the spirit defies all convention
It's holy, profound, precious gift without debt.
Even muse I call gift, for it waters my soul's growth,
An alternate path that the spirit can take
Truth that's flavored by strangers, by loved ones, I've seen both,
Fresh air never sweeter, Grace purges mistake!
Spirit truth has no owner like jewel or gold dust,
It's one with Creation; you'll know it by feel.
Although Midas (1) got gold, all his love turned to soul rust,
The gift of the Spirit is simply to heal!
Brian Johnston
June 13, 2017
Poet's Notes:
(1) From Greek mythology - Wikipedia
"One day, as Ovid relates in Metamorphoses, Dionysus found that his old schoolmaster and foster father, the satyr Silenus, was missing. The old satyr had been drinking wine and wandered away drunk, to be found by some Phrygian peasants who carried him to their king, Midas (alternatively, Silenus passed out in Midas' rose garden). Midas recognized him and treated him hospitably, entertaining him for ten days and nights with politeness, while Silenus delighted Midas and his friends with stories and songs. On the eleventh day, he brought Silenus back to Dionysus in Lydia. Dionysus offered Midas his choice of whatever reward he wished. Midas asked that whatever he might touch should be changed into gold.
Midas rejoiced in his new power, which he hastened to put to the test. He touched an oak twig and also a stone; both turned to gold. Overjoyed, as soon as he got home, he touched every rose in the rose garden, and all became gold. He ordered the servants to set a feast on the table. Upon discovering how even the food and drink turned into gold in his hands, he regretted his wish and cursed it. Claudian states in his In Rufinem: "So Midas, king of Lydia, swelled at first with pride when he found he could transform everything he touched to gold; but when he beheld his food grow rigid, and his drink harden into golden ice then he understood that this gift was a bane and in his loathing for gold, cursed his prayer."
WHERE TO BEGIN I LOVE MAN BECAUSE GOD MADE ME FILLED WITH DESIRE FOR MAN A GIFT TO MAN THERE WAS JOHN TERRY ALFRED HENRY CIRO LARRY ANTHONY CHARLES RETIRED SHERIFF THERE WAS DON HAROLD DON II JOHNNY ROBERT PHILLIP LEVI OH MY GOD I DARE NOT SAY THEE ELEVEN WHITE RUSSIANS EACH TAKING TURNS RIDING THE MECHANICAL BULL THERE WAS RICHARD JUNE BUG LOU WAS INTERESTING HE JUST LOVED TO LOOK HE WAS ALWAYS TOO EXCITE ATTORNEY CHARLIE WILSO.N OVER STRAWBERRY CHEESE CAKE BEN HOPKINS WHOLESALER USED CARS TONY BOLOGNY CAB DRIVER KINGS FROM SAIDI IRAQI KINGS YOUR HIGHNESS WAS THE BEST EVER NOT TO MENTION THE MEETING OF THE MINDS SGT MAJORS WORLD LEADERS CLERGY GOD BLESS THEM FOR BEING TEMPTED BY MY DESIRE ME WOMAN NO MAN COULD RESIST WHY MEN SIMPLY
LOST THEMSELVES IN MY DESIRE BEING AN ENTERTAINING A SHOW GIRL MARIETTA ROXY FOXY I DESIRE PLEASURE OF MAN HELL AM I WRONG I TRULY BELIEVE MAN WAS THE GREATEST GIFT TO WOMAN WHY I WAS ABLE TO BREED 8 TIMES THE JOY OF MAKING A BIG FAMILY HAS ITS PERK AND I ENJOYED EVERY MINUTE OF IT TOO THIS TRULY MAKES ME BLUSH FASCINATING TO SAY THE LEAST SGT SAVOY SGT MICHEAL PFC LITTLE THERE WAS FIRST SGT TOP SGT FIRST CLASS WILLIAMS MASTER SGT CHARLIE COMPANY SGT PERRY SGT HENDERSON MY MY MY SGT MAC GODS GIFT TO WOMAN IS MAN THIS IS MY PERSONAL GIFT FROM GOD BUT THERE ARE TIMES MY DESIRES REACH THE HOLY SPIRIT ON A SPIRITUAL LEVEL BOTH MY EX WERE CHEATERS SO I LEARNED TO LOVE ME MORE THAN MAN I COULDN'T IMAGINE MY LIFE WITHOUT GODS PRECIOUS GIFT OF MAN I CRAVE MAN GOD CREATED ME FOR MAN HIS REASON MAN COULDN'T BE TRUSTED TO BE ALONE SINCE ADAM WAS TRYING TO BREED WITH ANIMALS GOD KNEW ABOMINATION WOULD RUIN HIS EARTH WHO WOULD BE FRUITFUL ME WOMAN 8 KIDS 26 GRAND TWO GREAT GRAND PLEASURE MY REALITY BEING ME WOMAN THANK YOU GOD FOR MAKING ME FOR MAN WOW OH HOW I DESIRE MAN GODS MOST PRECIOUS GIFT TO WOMAN OUTSIDE OF NUNNS BUT I'M QUITE SURE EVEN NUNNS HAVE DESIRE FOR MAN THAT'S WHY THEY PRAY THE ROSARY AT 7 AM EVERY MORNING FLUSHING THE SINFUL NATURE OF BEING TOUCHED BY A MAN WELL I'M NO NUNN MAN UNDER ME ABOVE ME WITHIN ME DESIRE DESIRE THE COMPLETE DESIRE OF MAN AND WOMAN THAT'S GODS GIFT TO ME MORE MORE MORE MAN FOR EVERY WOMAN AND I WANT SECONDS YES PLEASE MARCO POLO I ADORE MAN EVEVY INCH OF MANHOOD REACHES MY DESIRE CREATING IN ME FRUITFULNESS I CAN'T DENY I THINK I'LL HAVE SOME MAN RIGHT NOW WHY NOT
Once upon a time
There was a man
Who lost his job
And his home
And his car
And he slept under a tree.
Simpleton that he was,
He never gave thought
To asking the oak's permission.
But the majestic old tree,
Being wise in its great age,
Suffered the unlucky human
To lie there in grateful repose
Between two of its massive,
Outspreading roots.
And there were visitors,
Unseen and unheard
By the man but who,
For their own secret reasons,
Took an interest in him.
So these playful beings
Found a way to indulge
Their sense of mischief
Whilst helping the man
Avoid further calamities
To his person.
The woods where he slept,
You see, were privately kept,
And others like himself would,
On occasion,
Pass close by that spot.
Well, the man was of a mind
To sleep well past the dawn.
But the toilers began
Their day early, so it would
Be only a short march of time
Before their paths
Would finally cross.
So the task at hand
For the imps
Or the elves
Or the ghosties
Or the faeries
Lay in devising clever ways
Of rousing the man
Without ever revealing to him
Their own true nature.
Once, for example, they bounced a
Large, round, feather-light something
Off the side of his sleepy head.
It felt like a giant nerf ball but was
Nowhere to be seen immediately after.
On another occasion, they directed
A friendly little toad
To land with a thud within inches
Of his horizontal face.
But in other instances
They acted more boldly;
Tickling his hair,
Grabbing him by the shoes,
Or yanking on an elbow.
The only time he thought to ignore
Such a silent sort of
"By yore leave, yer slumberin' Grace",
He only just avoided a confrontation
With some early-morning workers.
But Serendipity finally intervened,
And after the passage of a fortnight or so,
This man's situation changed yet again,
And he no longer had to sleep upon the earth.
But a peculiar thing occurred, you see.
Being accustomed to regular attention from
His entertaining unseen guardians,
The man found himself unwilling to return
To the bland comforts of a regular bed.
And thus it was only by
Withdrawing their favors
That they compelled him to
Quit that place for good.
And then, reluctantly, with yet
Further pointless delays,
I finally said my goodbyes
And left that place as I found it.
From Nabob of Junagarh, of Nizam—
Collecting tax on cotton and the kind,
The taxing job having strained of my calm,
I’d stayed at a quiet place, though haunted
And scary, a lovely place no less still,
Deserted now, it was a grand retreat—
River Suista telling in many ways
Babbling tales through every single pebble,
Leaping like a skillful dancing damsel,
What unforgettable and fateful days!
I still recall that flight of a plenum
Of hundred fifty steps to that river,
A solitary marble palace, plumb
Along the river, and etched as ever
In my mind, ah amid sprawling foothills,
No soul around to whisper of its ills!
The palace, two and half centuries old,
And built by a ruler of Muslim mould,
For private pleasures, luxuries enrolled:
Jets of rose water from fountains spurting
To cool rooms amply made of marbles cold,
Young Persian nymphets there entertaining,
Mohammad the Emperor, too tired, blasé,
Arab maids disheveled before bathing,
Their soft naked feet ‘pon water splashing,
Singing, trying to please him in odd ways,
Whilst wine poured forth as ample as water,
Afar, tears poured forth from a lost daughter.
Fountains no more now found, songs too have ceased,
Nor snow white feet, ever gracefully step
Upon the white marbles that remain cold,
The vast halls filled are with cess collectors,
And men like me oppressed with solitude,
Deprived of warmth o that be womanhood,
My old office clerk had me amply warned,
‘Pass days should you so like, but never nights
if you care', I’d waved him off with a laugh.
Servants agreed to work only till dark,
Which, I ignored, a tusk as a dog's bark.
The house of ill repute spared was by thieves
Like a nightmare, I sneezed at that as well,
And worked hard on long hours till lights grew grey,
Returning at night too jaded and tired,
Sinking deep into bed unto sleep mired.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana,
divided in I to XIII parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
Peppie was feeling cool
Watching the sky blue
Realizing he was on top
Above good ole rival Klopp
When Chelsea arrived
To the beehive
With intention
For a conversation about the detention
That should be mentioned
Getting attention
In the Daily Mail
Telling the story how Chelsea was nailed
“Our new fourth member
Pulled something this first weekend in December
Put a whammy
Using the Western Hammy
Trapping me in third
Finding out nothing is insured,”
Laughing Peppie continued enjoying feeding on the honey
Thinking what happened ‘was ever so funny’
“You wore yellow
A Mellow
Merchandising seller,”
Peppie replied
Knowing Chelsea tried
“Well, you were in white
For your bee buzzing fight
That was a bore and never tight!”
In another place
Klopp was building his case
Returning from battle
Protecting his cattle
Wolves on the attack
Working like a pack
Nil Nil to the end
Following a goal scripted by an athletic pen
Klopp was able to defend
Success!!
In the test
Not feeling alone
Having a civil tone
Approaching the two
Noting no one wearing blue
Pondering something was starting to brew
“First and third
Haven’t you heard,”
Peppie spoke the word
“I did some checking
No longer first instead second”
Klopp said
Impersonating a bridesmaid wanting to wed
But due to debt
Had to wear red
Chelsea gave a look
Like after reading a good chapter in a book
“You are lucky to be in front of me
You should be in spot number three,”
She did shrug
Still needing a hug
“About this West Ham
Who created the one-point jam?”
They all started to wonder
About the lunchtime blunder
“Are these Hammers for real?
Or just Londoners asking deal or no deal?”
As the trio checked their list twice
Being border protective and nice
“Should we let them in?
To our elite circle of win?”
Chelsea started the rebuttal
Noting they had this entertaining bubble
Creating trouble
On the table
Winding around the English Premiere fable
Where only one takes it all
Declaring the champion playing futbol
A baby gorilla's bedtime is a harmonic period when the bananas line up with little leaf rattles to softly croon to slumber the furry ball. Priceless is the process of pacification and pacifications are not prevalent in the pacific, the polar regions, nor do they play with piñatas in Paraguay. It is to be said that a tortoise shell footstool can rotate at great speeds do cast iron boots must be worn if placing one's feet upon the tapestry printed square form. The chime of lime is very very noisy but not as noisy as the incessant chatter and chuckling from the bowl of sugar cubes. Sugars state signalling shaped saying stuff silkily and silly too. But a mild mannered oxon could take a heifer to a ballroom but only if properly attired in a beach towel, sun glasses, three piece suit and a gown. Then an entrance can be made. With a thud. And a bellow. Brass bands made of cream donuts can entertain at this dance and the hall is quite packed with skimming skirts, scantily clad pea women, and the tidal spore has come dressed as a ringmaster but no whip for whips are for the underground stations and platforms of legs. Legality leaves legs lingering liberally. Akin to sprinkling a fine spray of salt across a plate of the towering vegetables. Piled high. Architectural really. Very mesmerising is the mist of a fine diner whose aroma lifts the air surrounding with a unjust uniquely identifiable stench. And stench drenched can be a wench, a bench but never a welk. For welk belong in tree houses and tree houses are not tables and not talking ash trays either. Ash trays do not modify a month of moon shaped mammoths. And a tree semi formed can bite so always walk very very very briskly when passing a thicket. Zoom then. Go on zoom. A zoom in a room. How rather entertaining and entertainment is equal to a climbing plant pot scaling a sky scraper. How great. Such feat with no feet. And how deserving of the medal at the Olympics of Oscar fish in an oceanographic weave of seafood cocktail with melon jus. Haha the wide mouthed octopi are singing gospel tunes to a small party of crabs. Ha the divinatory dogs diving definition digging dreams. Ha the musical mustard jar moving in time to the fish fork forte. Xxxxxx reciprocal z z z zzz. At ten loaves to forty seven slices of butter cake. Z z z z z z. 57294894907398%. Z
Form:
Inside a grotto scooped out by a wealthy earl for his seated pleasure,
There sat a bard amidst the edelweiss strung 'round the hole of leisure.
Fallen droplets of acidic water pitter-pattered in echoes across the cave,
Slowly weathering away its leaky limestone layers as would a mason's lathe.
The bard, whose unimportant name shall be dismissed, strung away at his lyre,
Tickling its strings with unclipped fingertips which pick up songs from every wire.
Mediocrity had once been the nemesis to the boyish bard in his recent youth,
But now, after endless nights of practice, his expertise needed little proof.
He grew bored, however, with the memorized music that his body hummed,
From hypnotic and melodic languid limbs, which on their own had strummed.
Seated that evening on the edge of the grotto's bank,
He put down his lyre as both his eyes into the water sank.
"I am but twenty-six years-old and I've already come to master," he pined,
"Trading tales told inside of tunes; what more on Earth for me is there to dine?
Have I drunk the goblet dry in but a gulp?
Have I swallowed the savory pie in but a bite?
And have I been denied, in gluttony, the right to dessert?
Please, oh motherly moon, dearest Selene,
What more is there for my life to mean?"
During his pouting pitiful preponderances of apathetic patheticism,
A scattered image on his own reflection distracted him from his pessimism.
An eidolon of Endymion appeared before the startled bard,
And he held within phantasmal hands a deck of playing cards.
"My name is Endymion and I once walked awoken in Earthen woods,
Until I fell in love with Hera before her husband banished me for good.
I succumbed to an endless and dreamless slumber, but I can now see,
You fear you already lived your life and will be put to rest like me.
Yet life is but a game of Pitch, there are highs and lows and jacks and game,
Which is scored in not one hand but rounds whose cards will never be the same.
You've played your hand well in an entertaining trade, as you have felt,
So now its time to shuffle the deck and play with cards that've yet been dealt."
With that the ghost of Endymion drifted back into his eternal sleep,
And the bard in the grotto grinned and eagerly forgot why he did just weep.
Why does flight feel more lightly entertaining,
yet less engaging,
than fighting?
Laissez-faire thoughts lighter
than ponderous confronting ruminations,
Why?
I would not expect a babbling infant
to understand why
WinWin cooperation deeply entertains
for learning health-enhancing cultures,
ego/eco-therapeutic religious experience,
bicamerally democratic government,
multicultural compassion-nurturing
Golden Rule co-governance.
This omnipresent co-relational laundry list of engagements
I would explicitly
cooperatively
compassionately
spiritually
and naturally hope for
from mature entertaining adults
immersed in nonjudgmental egoNows
and nonperforming ecosystemic Heres
curiously ego-echo familiar
as WinWin stunning synergies
of primal ZeroZone co-presence
breathing in engaged acceptance
to breathe out health-optimizing
non-egocentric interdependently co-acclimating performance.
Why does LeftBrain
hope to escape
from yang-competitive Win/Lose risks,
feel safer,
more defensive,
more protective
of egocentric BusinessAsUsual performance,
while chauvinistically leaving RightBrain
in Lose/Lose hopeless despair
or Win/Lose lack of integrally fulfilling performance,
or unnoticed and shunned
alone with WinWin impressions
of healthy economic entertaining opportunities
alternatively missed,
And Left/Right ecological
and theological
and governmental
and religious
and multiculturally compassionate wealth
of thoroughly engaging non-violent health-opportunities.
But, really, LeftBrain competitive ego-performances
are not so much RightBrain embodied integral brainstem
deep learning
cooperative WinWin health-care synchronic,
resiliently satisfying
like harmonic singing
and synchronized dancing
and writing ego's Win/Lose comedic/tragic
peak and valley experiences,
enculturing nutrition-stories
of healthy and unhealthy input breaths
causing wealthier entertaining output humors,
Muses,
Performance notes to self:
Now is time for ZeroZone
to breathe in regeneratively again.
To beat bicamerally
therapeutically
compassionate co-engagements again,
To become WinWin ecstatically co-entertaining,
once again
fully cooperative awareness
perceptively enraptured,
witnessing Earth's natural/spiritual entertainments.