Long Fondness Poems
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Page 7
We’ll build a wooden structure
With planks torn from our ships
And place it by their gates
Then we wait for the eclipse
Now I know you all have questions
About how I know these things
But I’ve studied all religions
Foreign Nations, Queens and Kings
Some kingdoms honor Bears
Some worship cats and eagles
Some lions, tigers, bears, “Oh My”
Foxes, wolfs and beagles
Now, these Trojans have one fondness
It stands upon four feet
It feeds upon the grassy plains
And they ride it down their streets
We will build it long and sleek
With a tail tacked to its end
And ears, upon its oblong head
But, with one thing more to send
There, concealed inside its belly
Are those who lie in wait
For the beast to be drawn inside
The Trojan’s massive gates
Page 8
So until the sun starts rising
You men must now embark
And assemble the device
While working in the dark
The others on the beach
A distraction will devise
To keep your labor secret
From those Trojan’s prying eyes
Now off with you, behind that mound
I have a party to attend
It’s not often I can have some fun
At the same time to offend
( Troy 1184 BC, The Beach Party )
The Flames of passion darted up
Into the evening air
It made the glittering of sand
Seamed like stars were everywhere
The drums had reached a beat
That made the young men, have to dance
And I’m sure it made The Trojans
Lose control and wet their pants
Page 9
While young men danced on burning sands
Displaying sex appeal
The Greeks would pause and strike a pose
And flex their buns of steel
The Trojans on the wall
Filled with heighten passion soon
Turned their backs and dropped the drawers
Displaying many moons
It seemed as if, we played all night
Now its time to take our chances
Bring forth the horse, and by due course
We all took second glances
The carpenters that worked all night
Had never seen the beast
It was a horrible interpretation
That is to say the least
I should have choose an artist
Much more suited for the task
For instead of building a mighty horse
There stood a giant ass.
No time to make corrections for
The dawn was growing near
We must move without detection
And crawl in through its rear
To be continued...................
Many the people I have known
a few who were once loved with hot passion,
most insubstantial shadows lost in time
a few remembered well and most fondly.
As for me, am I remembered too?
If so, with fondness left lingering?
or by other less salubrious thoughts?
Where did they end up these ghosts of mine?
Some, just a brief fling, then on
to pastures not always any greener
with the same every day strife's
that tear and weaken the fabric.
Love always arrives most joyously
fanfare heralds it in the door
Yet just as fast it flees in the dark
Leaving the remnants behind to pick over
To truly love is a perfect gift
granted only to a precious few
empowering them as it laps over them
so I say to long ago loves, Be Happy
I have always had a fondness for the narrative of dreams.
Why this may be so
I could not speak.
I do recall a former life as a psych major
reading Freud's Interpretation of Dreams.
Recognizing his iconic topography
yet wondering about his training
in phylogeny,
predicting one's pre-adolescent healthy ego
and ecological restorations
of our species' cooperatively maturing habitat
throughout our multicultural
matriarchal-dominant rebirthing story.
I hope to feel
this timeless sacred narrative
of Earth's reweaving Sabbath,
regenerating Eden's therapeutic dreams
of polyculturing Paradise.
And,
not quite so many patriarchal pathological nightmares
emerging shared paranoid and claustrophobic punishing vocations
so vulnerably naked without potential integrity,
somehow not yet patriarchally here
with matriarchal now,
co-arising.
I LeftBrain dominate with far too retributive
non-redistributive neglect of justice days
manifesting competitive WinLose assumptions,
haunted by LoseLose nightmares
of a merely secular mortality.
I RightBrain dream
in restoratively manifest destinies toward WinWin
ecopolities of cooperative therapeutic praxis.
People don't realize
how lucky they are,
how blissful is their heartbeat,
how profound is their secret...
when love makes them smile;
many die without being loved...
loss or betrayal leaves them cold
as stones under the thickness of snow,
while winds hiss and continue to blow!
Who will be at our side
when loneliness makes us cry?
If our darling is no longer near,
and the need for kisses is stronger
than words, once the heart is alone
and life becomes another stride...
will someone teach us how to fly?
Then distance won't divide!
Many die without being loved,
it's all hidden in the eyes
that look sadder than they are;
pain is not only in the emotions,
it's deeper than feelings...
when words and images come forward:
making us remember their sweetness
to delight and inspire us more!
People don't realize the purpose of strides
that we must climb the highest mountain
before we can reach the top and look further;
from there the view is much clearer...
seeing who hurts from the unseen pain
and misses us, being fully aware of their fondness!
Time has passed and a lot of things have changed
With you not being around my feelings aren't the same
That same fondness that I once had has to be cultivated
The energy it takes to cultivate needs to be rejuvenated
It would take much work for me to make it like it was
The patience, understanding and communicating in love
You have taught me to get used to life without you
The way I live my life now makes me feel brand new
I feel emotionally independent with the need of no one
There is no stress about the things I have said and done
I have retired my friendship shovel for some time now
Feeling happy with myself with a reason to smile
The way we are now is the best we're going to be
To make things like they were, only time will bring that degree.
Craziness is in leaps and bounds,which swirls us in emotions,
tossing away the virtues.
This is a play to seek the bloody treasure while hiding the shady
faces.
Rounded and surrounded in a maze of illusions,where its so bright,
and the truth is not seen/visible and the sinner is walking in white
and the victim is bloodied.
The wounded soldier/fighter ,with truth as his armour,
honesty as sword,fights alone with the army,full of
lies,deceit,fake fondness.
After a long exhausting and excruciating war,
with deep cuts and bleeds,walks alone with blood
dripping.
with a smile on the lips from the heart,
awaits for a new rising sun.
“... la la la I am saint ... la la la”
“la la I am the victim ... la la”
is the song of the perpetrator.
Its an open gamble of crooked cards
and unmarked,where the cards
picked ,are crooked and winning,
as the silence of the unmarked
are cheering them on, at their victory.
And the perpetrators hums ..
...” la la I cane you,but still
I am sane than you..la la “.
“ and you damn... insane ... la la “
“la la la ........................
la la ... sings the victim ..
“la la ... shall I end this?
Can I? ... la la la “
Children, can you hear the thunder and the gale?
It's time to tell that old and fateful tale.
Nobody knows it better than I know,
the dog named Wolf who died so long ago.
It began with an Autumnal hunting trip
in the Kaatskills with my friend and master, Rip.
I said, "Rip, let's go catch us some squirrel",
and the following sad tale would then unfurl.
Indeed, it my weakness for a squirrel's meat
that led Rip and I to take to our feet,
and, also, Rip's fondness for an amber brew
that spawned the curious troubles that we knew.
He observed strange men playing a ninepin game,
knowing, not, that life would never be the same.
Rip didn't hear me as I commenced to beg,
"Exercise restraint as you drink from the keg".
Soon, Rip was overcome by a deep sleep,
unaware that we were in trouble, deep,
I gained solace from some squirrel fricassee,
while my master snored in a major key.
You mostly hear that I went home alone -
but I wouldn't toil before Dame Van Winkle's throne.
I sat beside Rip while his gun turned to rust,
and I myself returned to the earth as dust.
And the sound of the thunder that you hear,
is Rip and me, and those men who drink strange beer,
the ghosts of Hendrick Hudson's crew, the same,
playing another frame of a ninepin game.
Do I have to remember that life has a set flow?
Our days might be dreadful, yet, joy utterly slow.
Miracles arose typically through the cloudiness.
I'm busy exploring and hoping for days to pass.
The lack of sufficient treat hampers our friendship.
We'll be frying outside during the scorching heat.
Things that can be seen clearly are sand and grass.
As we cross the tiny bridge, without greeting mass
Inside you is the wellspring of your greatness.
This is the spot to utter while everybody is yelling.
There was nobody like you as away as nothingness.
Bear in mind your equipment and life's calling.
No one recalls eternal's gaunt visage with fondness.
It's critical to grasp your unique treat and essence.
Written: December 23, 2021
How do I explain what’s special about our cabin…that she’s not just a cabin anymore…
How, after all the years we’ve grown old together…she’s evolved into so much more.
Sure she creaks more than she use to and she’s added a few wrinkles as time’s gone by…
But, as she remind me when I mention this, over these same years…so have I!
But because of all the time we’ve spent together her walls hold memories of our past.
which makes each time we walk through her door….a little more special than the last.
Awaiting in this cabin are the memories we’ve made throughout the years.
Most are happy memories…but a few are brushed with tears
Deborah’s mother’s laughter, her father’s garden filled with veggies we eagerly awaited
Bryan, Ali and Ryan performing full length plays they wrote, produced and then created.
Picking blackberries, holding a stick in a campfire then pretending it’s a torch,
coveting the Goddess of Uno, chasing fireflies, laughing together on the porch
Flying paper airplanes from the upper deck…watching them soar and glide
Playing games with Grandma and Grandpa…laughing so hard we cried.
This cabin saw Deborah’s mom’s and dad’s passing…
saw sadness grip the trees
But she’s also watched their great grandchildren sharing similar memories
Over the years this cabin has inherited our genes and chromosomes….
mix in all our memories and this cabin is our home.
We even call her Balsam House…
yes we’ve christened her with a name…
I wonder…since we think of her with fondness…
if she thinks of us the same.
Yes, somewhere along the way she’s become part of our family…
A safe…a loving and happy place….
where each time I enter
I promise to ignore how she creaks a little more these days….
If she’ll ignore the new wrinkles on my face.
When my eyes meet your gaze
The first eon in surprised time,
Brushing into each other in a cafe
The earth somehow wakes,
It knows your flesh
embracing our marrow's warmth
more encompassing than life's fate
that my breath stumbles into ticks
of nightfall's irrepressible lightness.
You are received by my body
as much as sky's flame--
Perhaps more
As we breathe the same wind.
Could this be a new fondness?
...Yet raw this earth that wraps us incorporeal
like stardust itself ;
And nameless as shadows
in deserted moonlight,
nick of time freezes without notice
aligning our birthright with destiny
and like the clockwork of serendipity
no one dares speak.