Long Foreseeable Poems
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Northside of Chi-Town is full of emotion.
In the ‘45 Series Cubs and Tigers are battling.
Sianis buys two tickets to show his devotion.
Is booted ‘cause his billy goat won’t stop bahbling.
He curses the Cubbies and causes a commotion.
But spring is rooted in fans' love and devotion
Like lush, green, yellow, crimson, ivy will never
Stop growing. Year after year fans fear
Hearts will shatter but remain forever
Faithful chanting “Wait ‘til next year!”
Generations grow up cheering with great emotion.
Generations grow old enduring gut-wrenching loss
Bleeding among Lovable Losers time
And again, but no Cubbie faithful dares cross
To the Southside—it’d be a traitorous crime.
In 2003, faithful fans’ love and devotion
Promises fruition as Dusty Baker
Arrives Northside heralded as the Cubs’ savior.
But NLCS Game 6 at Wrigley is a heartbreaker.
Cubs need five outs but collide with a traitor.
Steve Bartman’s still in hiding; his name elicits emotion.
Castillo’s bat aims grenade over foul territory.
Cubs’ fielder Alou springs towards the heavens to snatch
But when feet touch dirt Cubs land in purgatory.
Faithful gasp: Curse of the Billy Goat sets a rematch.
Since that fateful day in ‘45 exploding with emotion
Wrigley hasn’t seen another World Series.
Since Bartman's affair in 2003, Cubs haven’t won
A playoff series. But Billygoat yaks to Mrs. O’Leary’s
Ol’ Cow an’ scoffs at the new scapegoat’s unearned run.
In 2011, after 91-losses, Ricketts proves his devotion
Adding the sabermetrics guru who now values emotions.
Epstein arrives at Northside championing human connections
Rebuilds Cubs’ roster with players who reverse the motion
108-years and character solves equation for a winners’ resurrection.
Hearts ripping open is a crushing emotion
But fans never stopped believin' in near
Foreseeable future ‘cause they’re loyal
Lovers and nothin’s as good as baseball ‘n’ beer
At Wrigley for 81 games on your own home soil.
Mute
but immutable.
Unmoving, unmoveable;
timeless, yet tireless.
Solitary stalwart sentinel
surveils undulating horizon.
Aberrant, achromatic clouds
pock-mark the skies, as distant
rumblings herald his adversary's
latest gambit in their age-old conflict.
The wrath of a thousand crashing,
clashing, thrashing fists batter
against the beleaguered sentry.
Ceaselessly, remorselessly,
the maelstrom assails him.
But the foundations are firm and
noble gatekeeper stands steadfast.
Single-minded of purpose, placid
custodian morphs into combatant as
his luminous, voluminous blade carves
luminescent arcs through chthonic cloak.
Tenebrous tendrils wither and dissipate,
impotent under intense lambent onslaught.
His victory is only fleeting, as vanquished
foes are summarily supplanted by more of
their ilk in a seemingly continual surge.
Again and again, over and over, tormentor
presses the attack, exploiting any weakness.
Over and over, again and again, valiant warden
repels the barrage and despatches his enemies.
And so the pattern repeats endlessly, unabated,
as these eternal opponents jostle for position
in a perpetual cycle of aggression and defence.
Until eventually, finally, ultimately, the stale-mate
is broken; when Tempest's tantrum is tamed and
Blizzard's battalions have been banished, all is calm.
Tranquillity is able to reassert herself and order has
finally been restored; at least for the foreseeable future.
Obligations fulfilled, the triumphant Guardian can now rest.
Until the need arises again, until he's called upon once more,
he will wait patiently, watch diligently, in unflagging vigilance.
Forever resolute, a beacon of sanctuary, a symbol of hope, his is a
thankless task, but the Protector of Mariners will always be needed.
-----------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 27 July 2017
For Eve Roper's "Lighthouse" Contest.
(1st Place)
Why fear a future not foreseeable?
Would this question that doubts abrade,
remain unanswered without curiosity?
I'd be left with a regret as insurmountable
as guilt itself: what gains would I have made,
if I had held back and ignored this possibility?
A long time ago, happiness was abundant not letting shadows loom,
and time seemed an eternity held into my grasp before tragedy befell;
I had no doubtful thoughts or gloomy prophecies foretelling doom...
or pondered about a catastrophe and be afraid of it: all was well.
They should have seen me running through fields
of poppies and dandelions overlooked by chestnut
trees and with excited eyes and tanned cheeks...
I searched for a stream to quench my thirst!
There, atop the Paternio Mountain, cliffs plunge
into the picturesque valley below...any soul
would be amazed and not expunge
this sight from the awesomeness of the boulders!
There, nobody thinks of mundane things while taking a stroll,
but admire that wild rose lulled to sleep by blades of grass!
Would anybody pick it and let its loveliness
vanish from the meadow's vastness?
Whom this beautiful rose will be tempting:
that lover driving back home who thinks of his darling?
Why fear a future which hasn't come yet?
Does the suffering of others make me reflect
on middle life? Can I forget my share of sorrows?
Do I realize that my errors were paramount?
Ah, time is too swift in its conquest of days!
I mourn my defeats and not take into account
the delight of my little triumphs
that are imprinted on my thumbs!
Written on 5/19/ 2018
Theme: Over the hill and far away
Entered in Broken Wings contest,
“ Let Your Pen Drip “
I would offer an interior
and exterior landscaping contract
to facilitate multicultural designs
for restoring Mother Earth's ecotherapeutic justice,
within each and every ZeroZone of space
and HereNow time,
dear voiceless
and effluently timeless Yin,
But I doubt you will hear this as our optimal WinWin relationship,
given your current repressed lack of status
as Earth's polycultural peace and justice loser
in ZeroSum economies
of Yin must lose commitments to non-violent integrity
for my left brain dominant Yang to ego-win,
today
and for the foreseeable threatening
toxic future.
Hearing no positive deviant psychological response,
I would offer to facilitate your WinWin property healthing climate game,
but I doubt you would become ego-absorbed
in game integrity theories
or non-recursive absence
of reiterative excommunicating theses,
Although, perhaps we share a still small impassioned light
for compassion's ecstasies of experience
remembered from our dual dark nonsectarian space
EarthWomb's original matriarchal yin-flow environmental place
filled with integral nurturing strings
and streams of DNA umbilical wave-linear structures,
Strictures inviting phenomenally wealthy WinWin neural experience,
where left brain consciousness will eventually speak
compassion's right brain interdependent neural perception networks
ego/eco-lateral
bi-lateral Yang inhaling with Yin exhalation
as healthy ego predicts internal wealthy eco-climates
through ancient maternal therapeutic designing memories
of when Yin has progenitor been
more Yang universal out
multiculturally landscaped
than unitarian
polyculturally enriched within.
I always promised myself
that if i found the love of my life
and
eventually
the fireworks ended
and the sparks drifted slowly
towards the grass,
I would do whatever I could
to light that fire again.
I told myself
I would tread through
treacherous waters
burn myself in the process
of trying to light things
up again,
run across the world
in search of an answer,
a glimpse of hope.
now,
I’m standing between
two people
whose fireworks
never had the chance
to truly ignite
the wind tossed them away
hushed them to a different shore
leaving the regretted results of their lost love
and an air of emptiness in its wake—
a longing for more,
a hope for a better future,
wistful dreaming
of dreams
never achieved.
I always said that no matter what,
if I found the love of my life
I wouldn’t be like them,
that even if we grew old
and the attraction faded,
and the winds of life
tossed us side by side
I would find a way
to ignite the fire
inside.
But now,
as I stand between two lovers
with no glimmer of attraction
between them,
filled instead with an air of hostility
I wonder if love
is even the eternal hope
I always looked up to as a kid—
the happy ever after,
labeled the end,
yet, as kids we knew
that despite the troubles we wouldn’t see,
its future had no foreseeable end.
Now I’m trying to understand
Maybe love is fireworks
a bright light
that warms you up
so much inside
illuminates your eyes
with joy and hope
as it slowly dwindles away
into the fading dusk
never meant to last
or hold into one’s grasp
just a beautiful sight
to place in the past.
Combinations of Catastrophy
Combinations of catatstrophic scenarios everywhere I look
Invocations of prehistoric evidence collides with the big book
Complications that are caustic that sit in their niches and their nooks
Calibrations that the agnostic makes as he theologically cooks
Annotations of beauty upon a classical music score
Connotations refuting why there’s so much to be living for
Computations that are computing why we’re always looking for more
Permeatations polluting the old, sick, vulnerable and poor
Believable intonations from a child wanting to be heard
Conceivable imitations from a comedian repeating the absurd
Retrievable limitations from someone trying to preach the word
Foreseeable complications that could be prevented if it weren’t all so ill learned
There’s an evening with a mix of difference, strangeness and the unusual of demeanour
As they’re seeming to play with the inference that they’d prefer a worker to a dreamer
While I sit there in a conference about why the ocean isn’t cleaner
It’s difficult to evade the nonsense while your talking politely with a screamer
Multitudes of humans being just that and trying to raise themselves up from the ground
Interludes of a laboratory rat chasing the wheel round and around
Magnitudes of masses converging that are bordering on profound
Altitudes of heights now deserving of this disconcerting sound
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
Bathe beneath a monochrome
light
Be that sun , rainbow or moon
light
And place yourself front and
centre preferably in the very middle
For the sole purpose of securing
Some form of hope for your foreseeable future
And reeducate your ears to listen
Switch them back onto
Mono not stereo setting
So you are then enabled to let
Old forgotten familiar sound back in
Rid yourself of anything causing
you any form of discourse or displeasure
Then wipe the slate clean and dust yourself off
In order so you can tackle your
fears and get back on that horse
as soon as is humanly possible
Before your mind eventually
tricks and scares you enough
From being able to do it so you
end up eventually
Giving up and quitting on yourself
Until you can or are no longer
able to hear the rumbling impending thunder cracks
Is able to steal the light right from
under you
And prevents you from creating
fresh new memories each and
every day
That will serve you well in the
future just incase old ones created
Eventually may fade away over time
down the line
And if nothing else or no other reason
Than to prove to your own self
That as long as you have your
health
Are still breathing alive and kicking
Try living and never put off anything
till tomorrow that you can do today
Just incase heaven forbid one
night you go to bed and fall asleep
And die before you wake
Lift me up a little higher so I can see the light
Above the fray of doom and gloom down here,
Desperately I need this boost to ease my plight
I’m afraid I am drowning in this pointless drear.
Sometimes I think Apocalypse is looming near
Positive optimism slowly disappearing from sight
Sometimes I feel eaten alive by an irrational fear
Lift me up a little higher so I can see the light.
Conspiracy theories as black as the darkest night
Designed in the illogical mind to burn and sear
Compel me, make me want to take sudden flight
Above the fray of doom and gloom down here.
I sincerely long for contentment, peace so dear
Or, perhaps, at least a modicum of calm respite
From divisive elements, a social change of gear,
Desperately I need this boost to ease my plight.
‘Tis scarcely my nature to live with foolish fright
Lingering, my foreseeable future at a bronzed bier
Yet, with all the negativity enveloping my might,
I’m afraid I am drowning in this pointless drear.
I diligently seek the way of exuberance and cheer,
To always find ways to focus on the grander right
As long as I have breath, I avoid the noisome jeer
Run to the truth with outstretched arms to fight,
Lift me up a little higher.
Written May 22, 2022
Sea of searching tore hope without explanation
Crucified crests cascaded, crazed static fall crashing
Thrown spontaneous needs, unclean situations
Wayward waltz of flotsam incongruity, faith attacking
Tossed by tumult of quick duty drifters expected
Wanton women sought whimsy single wave provided
Crudest crass antics satisfied, longevity rejected
Your initial impression of love soured, ineptly guided
Passing storms glinted possibilitiy, gold molten
Tides' turn triggered stability, a precious daughter born
Island high respite bleached prior sin, forgotten
Barbaric baby mother forced ongoing warranted scorn
Struggle to maintain safety, sentry shipwrecked
Shattered bow released soul mate satiate foreseeable
Tormented tiny child splintered fragile prospect
Cuts met welted wounds, salt sterile from recent evils
Collapse on a beach of relief, I'm your purest cove
Bloodied hands bandaged, nurtured with tender heed
Mollusc polished particles to resume trust's trove
Immortal vessel promise predicts turgid tides recede
24th October 2020
Written for Contest: After The Hurricane
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
picture to take inspiration from is
'After The Hurricane, Bahamas',
painted by Winslow Homer
the lonely traveler pauses
to contemplate the road sign
ahead
the decision of deciding
a path
that has no foreseeable ending
just another choice
to be made and lived
with
like a gambler
the rambler rolls
down a dusty road
continually chasing
the sunset
that lights the cirrus clouds
in the shape of flying crosses
and holds the promise
of a good night’s sleep
the grain of earth and of life
dwells within every crevice
of the strangers being
his clothing
the folds of his skin
deep in his ears
crusting his nose and mouth
blurring his vision
but the neon lights
and highway’s score
provide a romantic
and cinematic
atmosphere
that makes each road
connect to the next
and wind into
eternity
just outside city limits
he always passes through
not assigned a number
with no forwarding address
just another story
to transcribe
and another memory
to describe
like an interstate prophet
he absorbs the turbulent world
encountered in every step
taken in tattered torn shoes
and creates an uncertain future
that mimics the readings
of his pocketbook of road signs
and mile markers
which take him one step closer
to the ocean
and the ever evasive horizon
where a good night’s sleep awaits
and a new days dawning
is promised