Long Flinching Poems
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I've gone through some emotional,
Spiritual and mentally challenging days
And I've learned to keep my faith in God
In the face of my dismay
I know hard times will always come
And that there will be rain
But with my faith in the Lord God
I know I will sustain
Paul himself had some rough days
As he carried forth his mission
He had road blocks along the way
Requiring some tough decisions
And when his godson Timothy
Needed support as well
Paul wrote a letter to him
A lesson in faith he did tell
A lesson in keeping the faith
African Americans can empathize
They kept their faith in the midst of slavery
And came to realize
They never let go of their belief
During the rapes, murders and lynchings
And never forgot the love God had for them
During the flayings, fetching and flinching
My ancestors held their heads high
And built houses to worship the Lord Christ
Never letting go of the promises
That He made over their lives
Forever praying never straying
From the message of love and hope
Never regretting and never forgetting
What they had to do to cope
A lesson in keeping the faith
By placing their trust in He
The Holy One, the Great I Am
Who gave them the victory
From the Middle Passage through slavery
The Civil Rights and Black Lives Matter
Movements
Our ancestors placed a faith in us
That won't diminish nor relent
For such a time as this
Our faith in God is all we know
We've gone through the bigotted fires of hell
And survived the racism inferno
We thank God we didn't perish
But we are singed around the edge
Because our faith in Him
Kept us from going over the ledge
And when I remember by Mom
And how she encouraged me to pray
She planted a faith seed in me
That has thrived in every way
A lesson in keeping the faith I now truly get it
That no matter what life throws at you
Just trust in the power of the Holy Spirit
And so I write…
not for the clamor of being known,
but to keep vigil with what will not be spoken—
those hushed and hollowed spaces
where sorrow gathers like dusk,
unannounced,
unwilling to depart.
I write
to lay gentle witness upon the wound,
to trace its sacred fracture
without flinching from its remembering,
to press my spirit against its quiet architecture
and learn the shape of what endured me.
I write
to consecrate both the breaking and the becoming—
to name the wisdom buried in ruin,
the strange and steadfast grace
that lingers in the aftermath of undoing.
And if truth be told—
I write to recall myself
from the far edges of forgetting.
To gather the scattered fragments of breath and being
and speak them, softly, back into form.
For even here—
in the most forsaken hollows of the soul,
where light feels like a long-abandoned language—
something remains.
Not loud, nor luminous at first glance,
but patient…
and unextinguished.
A quiet and unyielding ember,
veiled beneath the ash of all that was lost,
waiting not for rescue,
but for recognition.
Something that, against all undoing,
still inclines itself skyward—
still remembers the sun
as if it had never been forgotten.
And so I write—
to bear witness to that remembering,
to call it gently by its true name,
to follow its faint and faithful rise
until it becomes light again.
Covered Dishes
2
Into the tattooed tavern
we sauntered dreamily,
squinting our delirious eyes, while
blinking rapidly, and flinching from
the electronic glare of spit-polished mirrors,
shining as an insane sun would,
without reflection, without resonance,
hanging on a purple breast, extending out
like a promontory of covered platters and purple dishes;
and there were young girls present
wearing the costumes of the naked,
seeking to dance in the germ puddles,
with waxed earbuds donned,
and eyes scanning
for blue jean bulges, a promise, and a ring.
Instead, they find the Shadow,
pulsating wildly under the neon cocktail
that oozes desperation;
they crisscross the floor, only
to find more phony friends, and traipsing ghosts
that hurry away, never looking, never listening.
“Ah, miss, may I buy you a white whale?
Certainly I can afford to buy you
a moment of pointless romance.”
But she doesn’t perceive the wondrous latitude,
of that amazing moment in time,
this hollowed babe in black heels,
just staring point blank into my eyes.
Waiting for the nod,
the supreme tilt to aggrandizement!
At last it arrives, as autumn sensibly arrives,
and the truth can be seen.
“I would kiss you now, miss,
here under this humming cocktail sign,
that glows its neon blood
upon your open lips. But
Death wants another drink. Look.
It’s waiting down the bar a ways.
It’s staring at you with mouth decidedly open;
It wants your blood in a beer glass,
with your sea-sodden tears in a chaser.”
Atonement
By Michelle Morris
23/11/2022
Atonement seems to be this very heavy memory
Of this cross you carried for so many years
We both know that you crossed the line
Destroyed my trust and burned my smile
It took me decades to rebuild my sense of instinct
To move in circles of humanity without flinching
And you think that because you felt guilt and suffered
That it is enough for me to let you back into my world
I have forgiven you and have moved on with my life
I don't need to move on with you in its path
Atonement is the making of amends
It cannot demand forgiveness or friendship as its end
You need to forgive yourself and learn the lessons
You need to accept that a broken relationship needs its endings
We can move on in our separate spheres
You can do your thing and I can't be near
For as much as I can forgive, the memories live on
And I would prefer distance as atonement's song
Put down your cross; learn, grow and do better
Make every effort to love and nurture your relationships
Let your soul be lightened by your learnings
May your best atonement be that you're a better person
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Cyborg Sleep
An image of a man stands serene against the rock cold wall
Vigilant eyes study the distant city
Elongated and curved shapes form in his mechanical mind
Only nature there to sense it’s out of place motions
The cybernetic organism, alien life
Coming to life on the barren world
A living machine, automaton, a time sentinel
Built with purpose
Watches with singular intent
All there is…. all that’s left
Never flinching…. Nearly motionless…. somber in demeanor
This replica of humans holds solid ground and waits
Programed to move occasionally at times
To generate power in its core components to survive
The guardian of humanity stands
A solid figure with a small metallic vile
Sheltered within hides a remnant DNA specimen strand
(It is the last fragment of human’s survival and hope)
Nestled deep in the power source
Atomic silent and serene it keeps the centuries still
In time to come, with luck
The cyborg will be cracked open like an egg one day
Perhaps by another benevolent humanoid race
To reassemble the family of man from the remnants left
Or the time sentinel will roam the Earth alone
Carrying humanity along literally in the heart
In an endless awakening from alien sleep
No one to ever know the secret that he keeps
Cold shower today - (early afternoon)
September eighth two thousand
and nineteen more challenging than June
dog days of summer test tolerance
to feel alive and bark at the moon
hypothetically imagining myself
alone in the (suburban) wilderness
fabricating, envisioning crossing pontoon
bridge while humming nonsense tune.
Jolt to body electric induces zing
unlike missus who cannot wing
subjecting her sensitive skin
versus modest bragging
rights of this faux king
please pas din me boasting,
but perhaps explanation
I shower without hot water
linkedin to aging.
Which (no matter cumulative
chronological orbitz around sun
just a number), the fleeting
passage of years doth stun
more so forces me to assess
mein kampf, retrospective
devoid of nothing merit but pun
hushing disappointment plus
self deprivation of fun.
Alas within narrowly
circumscribed realm stale
stagnation doth prevail,
I easily overwhelm
courtesy panic attacks of this male
bred avoidance behavior
(cue Pavlov's dog) hearty and hale
trained to withdraw
from challenging tasks
markedly pronounced when fail
my middle name,
where besieged psyche doth ail.
Fatherhood, albeit necessitated taking ace
sip of courage, sometimes
adept to chase
fear of unfamiliar, though
never totally erase
sing passive behavior
I attest infrequently to face
anxiety inducing situations
poise zenned clowns
feign amazing grace
me convulsing with intimidation
agitating, flinching, recoiling...
retreating into isolated place
while profuse sweat drips
from every porous space
heart beat does madly race
despite absence of any threat
exhaustion spent without
factual, logical, rational... trace.
Time and again work fraught
self into lather for naught
recurring soap opera taught
me impossible mission
to rinse figurative suds
unlike showering/washing hair,
whereby cleansing wrought.
FLINCHING
I am sure to flinch
when flying cockroach approaches me.
In zoo, I always avoid the zone of snakes.
Snakes moving spirally
shake my body inch by inch.
I am sure to flinch if I descry
a spider close to me.
If it crawls or runs, I am sure to yell or cry.
Arachne phobia
is my worst weakness.
I think, if I meet a tiger in front with mouth agape
and see snake at back
with cockroach and spider on both sides,
I will rush to tiger to escape.
06/16/19
Second Place
'What Makes You Flinch' Contest by Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
What do I know about hockey
I'm watching the guys flying on ice
With sticks in hands and a tiny black thingy
which I called it "chip" they're skating and fighting over it
Oh but this sport looks painful
They're hitting and slamming into each other
And the crowd gets so wild about it
Back and fort they skate and hit
And I am flinching and worrying they might be hurt
It seems like the crowd get so riled up
Especially when two guys had a free fight
Now they go take timeout in the glass box
Just then one red jersey guy shoot the black thingy into the net
And the lively crowd went up singing
Scooore scooore
At long last I can cheer clapping hands
Not knowing I wasn't supposed to cheer for that scoring team
Booo... Lets go Rangers they chanted
Oh this sport looks real exciting but I am very sure the players will be black and blue the next day
Lol... What do I know about hockey... Smile :)
Akkina R Downing
4-30-17
[This is based on a true story from some years ago…
Some elaboration involved… oh… and nothing got
Splatted.]
*
I sat there busy typing, some poetry and that
And suddenly I’m dive bombed by a massive hairy bat
If it wasn’t flying round I’d swear it was a rat
But maybe I exaggerate… not quite as big as that
My hair was blowing in the breeze that blasted from each wing
I prayed it wouldn’t bite my neck, I hoped it wouldn’t sting
I’m ducking and I’m flinching as the thing attacked my face
I wondered if this was the end of the human race
But then I got some gumption and I knew what I must do
I coshed it with a newspaper and whacked it with a shoe
I had a beer to celebrate, ‘Take that,’ I had to mutter
Some went down the wrong way and it made me cough and splutter
My wife brought in some linctus, one for cold and one for cough
And then she asked me if I’d seen that HUMUNGOUS Hawk Moth
18 January 2022
Contest: Insects
Sponsor: Angela Tune
The weight I carried has settled,
not vanished, but pinned in place -
a fragile truce between my mind
and the pills I swallow, trembling.
They don’t call it a cure,
and I don’t ask for one;
but it’s enough to feel the unraveling slow.
I feel the world bleed into softer shapes,
colours no longer clawing at my skin,
the air no longer suffocating with noise.
The chaos still growls, caged but alive,
watching, waiting,
but I stand, grounded,
no longer flinching at silence,
or the darkness I once begged
to swallow me whole.
I don’t ache with every breath anymore,
the oppression of my thoughts no longer crushing,
gnawing at my chest.
I don’t fight shadows that cling like chains,
or drown in static, my mind splintering.
Now, I wake, and the world’s
no longer a battlefield -
for the first time in years,
I feel the weight of the earth beneath me,
no longer lost.
It’s not perfect,
but it’s enough to stand on.