Long Fatigue Poems
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FOR THE UNSUNG MAIMED AND DEAD—2015
On the ragged edge of brittle time, the paddle of life
Plays ping pong minuets of war and peace.
Yesterdays’ enemies have now become today’s allies;
And old war buddies are now the worst of new enemies.
In the crucible of chaos, deception brews its frothing tease,
Intoxicating self-claimed martyrs drunk on the flowing blood
Of self and that of the collateral innocent—demonized martyrs,
Screaming cries of sacrilege of God’s name and all that is good.
Smiling despotic power mongers spit into the faces of the discontent;
And slowly snips away at the knotted net of the morality of humanity.
How much longer will the world watch in the distance,
merely crying shame?
Indeed, ‘how much longer…before we heed the plaintive pleas
of the unnumbered dead and maimed…?’
Let this world not be mocked by procrastination’s scythe of time; nor
by the silent anvils of despair; or
by the silent fatigue of apathy.
Rather, let renewed hammers of love, justice and righteousness ring down
a new world order of the fatherhood of God;
a new world order of the brotherhood of man;
a new world order of the motherhood of peace.
Weeks of rigorous preparation are now complete
As the journey up the mountain begins I can not accept defeat
My goal is to obtain the worlds most ultimate view
I know I must go beyond physical and mental endurance to follow through
I start to feel breathless reaching for the sky
The higher I go, struggling through the bitter cold and deep snow I try not to cry
A flock of birds glides right by me in perfect flight
The sunshine is so brilliant such a perfect site
My dream of reaching the peak is about to come true
As the clouds break apart the top is in plain view
I finally arrive fighting incredible fatigue and nauseating pain
A sense of great accomplishment for conquering the terrain
Some days at sea are nothing but work.
Heave out and trice up. The smoking lamp’s lit.
All one can dream of are stable foundations,
Roots in the soil, and walls made of stone.
Some days at sea are seven nights long.
Stand to at muster and stand tall on watch.
All one regrets is the sin of the Garden,
Exiled from Eden and sworn to the mast.
Some days at sea are lived in the dark,
Crouching below deck past canvas and hemp.
All one can smell is the taint of the wicked
Wafting from hammocks asway in the swell.
Some days at sea are heavy and damp,
No sleep to comfort the ache of fatigue.
All one imagines is Saint Brendan’s mercy,
Tribute for Neptune, and safe passage home.
Some days at sea are absolute calm,
Fair seas that follow with no hint of storm.
All one envisions are distant horizons,
Some looming outward, and others within.
Without Agreement
Living in the vacuum of separation
An ashtray of burnt ember vibrations
In wounded agony torn apart
Sudden separation confusion imparts
Heartbeat separated from harmony’s essence
Absent whisper of the spirit’s presence
Heart in sweaty palpitations of dementia
Body swoons deprived in apt dyslexia
Two starving shadows whimper with fatigue
Pull in opposition as slumber flees
Banished into the abyss absent of life’s thrust
Cries for unity in harmony’s trust
Vertigo reigns in space split open wide
Simple grace caught between two riptides
Heartbeats and spirit wind lie in lethargy
Repulse vitality’s consummation in eulogy
The seed of unity clutched in arid darkness
Orphaned with withering roots of starkness
Nomads wander hearing the echo ancient
Blindly call muffled minds in siren’s plainchant
Climb from the chasm of separation
Find the way back to reconciliation.
9-19-22
Contest: San Mind Body
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Minus adverse side effects
courtesy Ropinirole HCL
couple nights I did try,
albeit yours truly wanted to die,
plus also yearned tubby
among grrrrrreat full dead, no lie,
yes absent asthenia, fatigue,
and/or malaise oh my
nausea, vomiting, somnolence, dizziness,
and asthenic condition,
I woefully did decry
unconsciously kicking,
thrashing, twitching, wife kvetching
downing aforementioned medication
found me awry
beseeching psalm body
e'en the Sultan of Brunei
or sovereign from Abu Dhabi
to administer euthanasia,
I would willingly rectify
to bid good riddance and goodbye
experiencing said unpleasant reactions
listed above, hence death wish
of mine to comply
expressed modus operandi doth underlie
trawling the net whereby, to crucify
rigging (leg giddy met) i.e. legitimate
gofundme site could justify
assisted suicide recycling, reimbursing
repurposing... biodegradable cross -
guaranteeing faithful ethics to fortify
upon me rising masses will deify
an imperfectly square profane guy
skeptic at heart, unsure soul will go skyhigh,
or descend into Dante's inferno,
hmm... methinks hot meal my
olfactory organ doth nasally espy
summat good cooking, therefore aye
got hearty appetite unbearable symptoms
amazingly relieved, that scare did mortify,
now get secular humanist off doggone †
lest he gets cross and promises to nullify
future aery missions...
sidelining death, viz abort... fail... retry
else fans ye will need to pacify,
and posthumous rock star status
martyr on your stained hands
leaving widow whose syrup prize
zing tears unceasingly cry
without spouse to henpeck,
she cannot deny
cuz, body (mine), saintly
nicked peep pulled, tattooed
with apostolic marks
sharp nib she did apply.
Cramps creeping and crawling,
an unwelcome reminder.
Why does my body betray
me like an unfaithful secret lover,
chaining me to my bed.
When did my uterus become my enemy,
even the pills offer no sympathy.
As a contradiction of contractions,
crush my organs like sharpened
shards of glass, these strange
territories tighten like heavy torture,
as linings of sore pelvis feel
a tugging pain of shame.
Unable to distract this
typhoon-like monstrosity,
I'm a hostage to
this turbulent intruder.
For those who question body
frames that do not beam,
my frowns are not an option,
they are a veil to the weight
of excruciating fatigue
that feeds the sanity in me.
There's no 'super human' strength
left to curl my fingers into
brass knuckles holding my
burning edges in peace.
Drained by the cries that
crack the surface of my womb,
agitation is expressed
in begrudging outbursts!
Unexpected and unpredictable
pain is a cureless curse,
behaving erratically within
a finely constructed system of tubes.
Once again, I wonder if
this shall be the month that
validates my womanhood.
Assumption begot,
that cumulative generations
bred tiredness weariness zap
ping ability to remain awake,
nope even enough energy
to feign opening maw mouth
evincing a yap,
and if equipped
with smartphone app viz whatsapp
would shear lee ask ewe
if Androids dream of electric sheep,
but limited options,
asper talking via two lipped gap
reduce modes to communicate
keeping shut tight denture
"FAKE" toothed trap
affixed to gums by (James) bonding agent
necessitating manual finagling -
careful NOT to snap
dentures, thus
leaving garbled speaking
where gum shunned rattletrap
disallowing articulation,
enunciation and pronunciation,
making worthy words
sound like discombobulated pap
hoping to convey tiredness affliction,
sans this poe whim, whereby i map
imagining yielding curling (catlike)
upon ample sized maternal lap
whether gentile,
or Jewish princess i.e. Jap
pan knees, which above
quasi Semitic iteration hap
puns tubby what occurred to me
for no particular rhyme or reason
hoping ya ponied mental effort
to breeze thru my sad dulled verse
with neigh saying horsesense to giddyap
whereupon woebegone
sleepiness could perk me up -
if ye could purchase far me a large frap
pa chin oh otherwise
fate twill point this chap
to Google search how to buck up vitality
vis a visa deer lee sought app.
Occasionally, I taste wakeful infinity.
It creeps on me at night.
There I lie in all kinds of positions,
while sleep flies away silently, ominously,
over the rafters and out into the starless night.
Fear grips my soul,
My worries taunt
for tomorrow will come,
eyes red, bags will hang beneath the lids,
and a body rigid, stressed, and tired.
Fatigue is in my very bones.
How fragile our lives can be?
Why can't I conjure visions
out of the darkness of the night?
Even the moon went to sleep.
I count sheep,
unending fields, trains,
or gentle breezes that help sails into port.
Nothing works. I just give up,
lie back and hope in vain.
Thoughts fly, ugly at times,
I strive to remember the gentler moments,
but fail miserably. I feel faint.
I turn, I stretch, I count, I pray.
I feel like an insignificant pinpoint
in the universe's expanse.
Can't do anything but wait for dawn.
smiling with so much love
he kissed her gently
on the lips
holding her
in his arms
as he was leaving
blowing her a kiss
promising to return shortly
jumping on the white horse
smiling waved to her
heading across the sea
to the land
of his birth
soon the white mares hooves
touched upon Irish soil
Oisin began to see
how much the land
with everything around
it had changed
all his family
also his friends
had passed away
no longer was there
a grand castle
instead it was completely
covered in ivy
almost in ruins
he was so caught up
in his emotion
with heavy feelings
of grief deep down inside
he forgot to care
for the beautiful white horse
in spite of her hunger and fatigue
she continued to respond
to her riders request
with a sad and lead heavy heart
he turned towards the sea
to head back to his love
in Tir Na Nog
as he was approaching
the sea
he came across
a group of men
working in the fields
as the mare reached the group
in her fatigue
she began to stumbling
clipping her hooves of a stone
he bent down
to pick up a rock
planning to take it with him
to Tir Na Nog
as a keepsake
full sure it would help ease his sadness
taking a little piece
of his homeland
back with him
but as his hand
grasped the stone
loosing his balance
falling to the ground
within moments
he began aging 300 years
without her rider
the horse reared
on her two front legs
rushed towards the ocean
returning to Tir Na Nog
to her beloved Niamh
as the men in the fields
they witnessed this
their eyes wide with amazement
at first they saw
a young man
before their eyes
transforming growing older
they also saw
an old plow horse
changing as it neared the sea
into the most beautiful
silver white mare
that they had ever seen
as the came men walked across
to Oisin's aid
they carried this
a feeble white haired old man
to St Patrick
when Oisin met St Patrick
he began telling him
about his family and his Fianna friends
whom had disappeared
300 years before
Lord Kitchener sent out the call to arms
In England boys and men heeded the call
Women took over the factories and farms
Before the armistice thousands would fall.
Big guns like thunder all day and all night
Daily we witnessed severe waste of life
Fatigue and hunger, we still had to fight
I thought of home often and my dear wife.
The big battle came and the whistle blew
We charged the enemy, they opened fire
Death was coming and many of us knew
I saw many comrades face down in mire.
Fatally wounded on the ground I fell
But happy I was on leaving this hell.
Written on 19th July 2018.
For your finest sonnet contest sponsored by Mark Massey.
Judged 8.8.2018