Long Fiddle with Poems
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You are the little grown boy
That fiddle with every toy
Running in the rain
With friends and hearts plain.
You are the son of your father
And the favorite of your mother
You are the love that found love
That love tailed from the dove.
You are the Daddy
That the children desires to teddy
The man always there for hers
A wall to lean when she errs.
You are the strange poet
That has picked from my poetry pocket
Not lost but lost to remember himself
Could poetry be selfish to steal oneself?
You are just you
Thinking I found you
As you read each line
I hope it makes you fine.
You are the one poetry steals
But not your heat to steels
You are the one this poetry finds
In prints and lines.
A ship's cook
The sea is dark, clunky, and calm today
slowly undulate
turns white where the ship's bow has plowed a furrow
that stretches for miles.
Gulls still follow us, shrieking and waiting for the cook to
throw overboard waste food, tomorrow gone back to the coast waiting, for another ship
I fiddle with the radio in the galley, find a good station
it saddens me also as it was it was my brother's favorite song
We left Antwerp 24 hundred hours ago,
it had been
hectic, long night, blaring music, whores and beer
In the drunken haze, a nucleus of sobriety reminded
a longing for something better, knowing this was
a temporary and shallow
as for now, I have a long day ahead of me, food to cook
bread to make and the cleaning of pots and pans
that is why cooks are temperamental
I feel safe in my little domain, a place the captain fear
to enters. Yes, I'm sailing across the sea, and it is good
to be alive on a day like this
It is stronger
than sympathy
Words are rattling bones,
when the meat is gone
The world is hungry
while you are bored
The divide is insulting:
cashmere and caviar
versus clouded water
and calloused feet
“In our city of lost alphabets”
I hope to find a mirror
to see myself
I wasn't with the answers
I can’t afford to go there,
nor am I strong enough
to understand the intimacy
of starvation
James Baldwin described it palpably
in ‘Black Boy’
The last stage of hunger
is when grass is an option
The minister ate
all the fried chicken!
The kids naw
on wishbones
and fiddle with sticks
in the dust
Do you make sure to tap all the dirt from your spikes with your bat,
even if it takes two full-length TV time-outs for you to do so?
Do you cross yourself once, twice, thrice,
or perhaps fidget and fiddle with the letters on your uniform,
no matter that they're sewn on so tightly that Superman himself couldn't
budge 'em?
Do you rub your hands together vigorously enough to make 'em bleed,
perhaps because you've just spit into them in the on-deck circle?
Do you take myriad cumbersome practice swings with three weighted bats,
flinging them aside to wave the feathery club remaining menacingly as you
turn to face the pitcher?
Do you dance and prance to some hip melody, like an apprentice snake-
charmer, as you approach the plate, inviting fans to heap trashloads of scorn and abuse on the batting helmet perched atop your fashionably overlong hair?
Or do you stride to the plate purposefully without all of that fussing and
fumbling, or all that commotion, to focus on doing what batters have
historically tried to do, which is to hit the tarnation out of that little round
ball zooming toward them at upwards of 90 m.p.h?
---Well, if that's what you do, then I am sure you're not a major-league player:
They earn their $4.5 million annual paychecks by doing
all that other stuff.
A Second to Work
With a hand that ostensibly
Caresses a fingerboard and bow gently,
Yet really holds with force,
Holds with vim and plays with vigor
The strings stretch and impart their somber discordance,
Turns out Wagner tunes into self,
Turns on raw terror, awe and fear
Awe with sorrow intermingled, the soul knows the notes no words can effect,
They tap the ear— touch the soul,
And Oh,
To play second fiddle
And fiddle with time, as the tune pours out,
A cosmic symphony that Wagner knew and shared with you,
That Nietzsche wrote
That I know,
That to be second to
To know the seconds in time
Lost to frivolous pursuits
To know that we have all but toil,
And work cursed to toil
And labor eternal under a relentless desiccating sun
To know that love comes second,
to toil
is the saddest condition of man.
Look me in the eye, heart
And you will see hollowness and anger
But if you stare at me in the mirror
You will see an absolute cloud of nothing
I bite my lips hard and focus on the girl before me
She is not laughing with the rest of them
She seems to be waiting for someone . . . something
It is as if she knows something is going to happen
The strange feeling must be coming over her
But what can she do?
My head pulsates in the sounds of her screaming
I want to make this fantasy a reality
How long must I wait in the shadows?
My hands fiddle with the sharp blade
As music booms in the background
But then something comes over me
Something tells me to stop
That if I go through with it I will regret it
And the weird thing is, I listen
I listen to the voice—I acknowledge it
But I cannot let the opportunity slip from my fingers
She was everything to me . . .
She took everything and crumbled me away
She left me in the shadows alone
And now she must pay
I have to go through with it
I cannot pass this up
The ache will never leave until it is done
I will wait . . . wait until people leave
Out here in the outpost
I guard the borderland
“Over and out” – I lose the call
And you are out again
This is my shout out
From the hinterland
“Roger, Roger” at my post
But you are – out – again
You do not deem to call
While my receiver’s on
I fiddle with the dial
But – static – is the tongue
Cold the rime upon the pane
That crackles to the sound
Of Solitaire I muster out
– And the hand that I put down
Is a winner, at its best
– It seems the Ace is high –
– And here my friendly guest
Just winks an evil eye –
The creaking of my little hut
Is charged with energy
Buffeted by winds about
– thou art mine enemy! –
Cold the outer fathoms
And in the frozen stasis
White is in the noise
And silence in the spaces
The dark outside is deep
Did I just hear a knock?
– it’s just the knock, knock
Knocking of my beating heart
– Cornered as a winter mouse
Frightened from its nest
I startle to the voice I hear
And flee my inner guest
As the song goes, she sings because she's happy and because she's free.
I'm also happy and free, but I sure do wish that I could also sing.
Anyway, everything and everyone must be true to their purpose.
The birds and the bees have theirs, and I have mine. It's not singing.
And even if I could, it would be during the time I love best, but
that would not sit well with the rest of the family, because
my heart favors early mornings when they are still asleep.
Oh, if I could sing, I would join in with the Nightingale,
and the two of us would sing of Dawn's Glory. Happy
mornings would be soothing and all aglow, because
I would be singing second fiddle with The Nightingale.
Furthermore, we would also give ultimate Glory to God.
Some are fans of their night songs.
Others are impressed with their tunes of later mornings.
I prefer the Dawn sounds when the light begins to break the darkness.
It is 'a breaking' point that reminds me of God saying, "Let there be light".
That's when the dark nights cease their hold in order that the light might
grow at sunrising, signaling nightingale's time to sing the songs of the Dawn.
Oh, the gloriousness of Dawn; the bliss; the blessing.
Oh, the glory that is Dawn's is awakening;
It can be breath-taking.
It is resurrecting;
It is renewing;
It is eye-opening;
and it is restoring.
051721PSCtest, This Or That, Edward Ibeh
1/19/23
Getting through endeavors
Doing better
More focus on what is important instead of only pursuing pleasure
Even though ladies never give me the time of day
Like animals, I'm a stray
Just could not find my way
Deep down quite okay
I tell the truth, so it won't always be nice things I say
So much wrong in the world, no person should have been treated like a slave
Still today too many lives at stake
Jeopardizing people acting nice then snake
Regardless if they're asleep or wide awake
It's continuous occurring on since before the iron age
Is there any way to make the cycle change?
I have tried
24/7 at times
Took one step then hit landmines
Followed by a swarm of sand flies
I thought my heart had died
Because I flatlined
Now I just want love no bad vibes
It's what I always wanted, but I know that it's about damn time
If you let it too much toxic stuff can slide
I apologize if my mind is a bit hazy
Life get's crazy
I'm starting to like this lady
She thinks I'm similar to Slim Shady
Of our origin we still can't find a trace
Wake up we don't truly know if we evolved from primates
All these swines and fakes
These schmucks keep secrets and humans in a confined space
Had nothing to lose, then it turned high stakes
For too long was not in a nice place
Now got a better mind state
I still overdrink, and don't always hydrate
Like wild animals, I need to migrate
Much to achieve, so why wait?
Worldwide not just across five states
All this senseless violence and blind hate
I have improved
Back in the groove
Not the same old outlook and attitude
Working on making less bad moves
Despite being a lonely sad dude
I know that there is so much that I can do
And that that's true
A lot of bad luck
Instead of not giving a damn
In order to get through all the sad stuff
I had to become smarter work harder and man up
Making a splish splash
During the daylight or when it was pitch black
Often I'd give back
Having a profound impact
Occasionally I'll pop a tic-tac
Fiddle with knick-knacks
While at times in life it can get whack
Occasionally coming with whiplash
These clowns sweeter than a Kit-Kat
In a world full of endless chit-chat
Always over this and that
Despite speaking on it like it's a fact
It is my greatest pleasure to be alone
To hear again the grey gulls guttural song.
My double sails are filled with gusty strong wind.
So good to feel heaven's peace far from mankind.
The shore is well far away but safely so,
Especially since now the strong wind blows slow.
Around the boat so many diverse fish swim,
Afraid of their destiny that can be grim.
Are they afraid of the dolphins jumping high
Up in foamy sea, they jump towards the sky.
But far, far away the reddish sun goes down
All neon lights are now bright in the small town .
Fiddle with the turn-and-bank indicator.
I return home alone, eat and sleep later.