Long Frustratingly Poems
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When bad
unhealthy
unsafe choices
speak in WRONG! voices
delivering shame,
deserving shunning
and irrepressible self-blame,
Reconsider this jump
from bad choices
to "wrong" voices
unable to consider tomorrow's
potential more right rejoices.
No one of us humans
has divine omnipotent might
to make all the right omniscient choices
spoken belatedly by unchosen judgment voices
To be omnipresently good
and regeneratively healthy
and impenetrably safe
for ourselves
for our loved ones
for our species
for our plants
and living planet
at all times,
in all multicultural inside places,
and polyculturally robust
outside wealthy spaces.
On better days,
well fed and watered and rested,
we may try more benevolent curiosity
about why feeling good
and healthy
can seem so frustratingly short
and insignificantly small
compared to long time
and large resources
Invested by patriarchal god-fearing
straight white corporate capitalists
to entertainingly seduce
and identity reduce
you into isolated producer
of bad faith consumer
feelings
Erupting in egocentric
left-hemisphere dominant voices
that habitually collapse
bad
unhealthy absence
of potential co-relational rejoices
into inevitably wrong
unwealthy feminine marginalized
divisive survivalist choices
Speaking in wrong voices
delivering shame
deserving dark fame
swamped by irrepressible self blame
Not man enough
Not human enough
Not humane enough
to be truly
and beautifully divine.
I sought to write verse tried and true,
But jester scuttled my muse making me blue.
I responded with childhood rhymes I once knew,
Yet that clown pilfered all and then withdrew.
Rebounding, I sought rhythm's cadence to renew,
Alas, he scrambled my patterns and my timing did screw.
Regaling remaining wit, many riddles did I queue.
Frustratingly, that spinster unraveled every clue.
Revitalizing the inner spirit, a few puns did I brew.
Revolting, that huckster for shallow laughter did sue.
Forlorn, I tried with other's quotes to imbue;
He called me a charlatan and my lack of honor did rue.
Form:
Oh my goodness,
what humans are willing to bare
to attract...
Beyond, the mock and mocking bareness
lies the convoluted angst of man,
pleasure seeking, in a self gratifying
wallow of excretions.
The need to roll…down the road…in the hay
to move like corpuscles down
the multitudinous arties of man.
Some draped in fuchsia, an orchid’s blush
with legs so long they make an ass of themselves.
Others tricked out in comfy cotton boostieas
breasts jiggling like jello, mounds of molded eye candy
firm, run-ready calves, taunt and on point
strut
ready to rut
on stiletto heels
still primed for and pandering to
the sought after alpha male.
The androgyny of the 21st century male-dom
making marking the target frustratingly
diff I cult
these drooping, wilted, round shouldered
bow-legged, net walkers seem unlikely sperm donors
for the next generation beyond the pale.
And as their lives settle in to settle down
in the whirlwinds of climate change
oil shortages, constant alpha stripping
further neuters the human potential
as the haves, feed the have nots
into the furnaces of endless war
the heard is culled………
She can't lie over that time behind mean,
From the bottom of life not planned to be lived,
It was someone else that she see,
But not in the state to grief,
In a sharp turn,things changed suddenly,
It felt as if everything was a bereave,
Tried all to get everything rightly,
She knew she was backsliding,
She knew she was not of herself,
Yeah,maybe you would be a talkative to that,
Deep within her ears,voices were directing her steps,
Not suitable to be at the bank of a deadly river,
The appearance of the river stole her instinct with a mutual urge of a diva,
Frustratingly,series of pain were developed in her neck,
No one knew where she fell as a victimized bird,
Even though one man concernedly said to her,
"Everyone is now giving a complain about you,
And I suggest you come back to your formal self",
All that he said was accepted to be a fallacy,
The problem was just a result of she being spiritually unstudious of late,
It wasn't easy for her to be repositioned,
Yet,she had everything needed to pass life examination,
Later realisation held her to revive by surprise,
And now,not even a child can deny the fact that she's alright.
My frustratingly obstinate hubby
Drives me crazy
Always loudly fixing the unfixable
Without any success.
He kept on tinkering stubbornly
Under the kitchen sink
Despite my fervent plea to...
"Just call the plumber already!"
True to form, he dismissed me with...
"No need, sweetie. I'll fix this, trust me."...
I told him, "But babe, it's worst off now!"
Even my daughter sided me on this.
"Dad, I actually agree Mom," she told him
"I think you should call it in," she added.
But did her advice penetrate? Of course not!
"No need, pumpkin. I know what I'm doing,"
He says to her, emphatically.
How typical of him.
The following day,
He's still scooping water out of the sink
With a salad bowl.
My daughter says to him,
"Dad, how about calling the plumber?
And then I said...
"Hon, why don't you ever listen to us?"
He finally calls the plumber
With my side eye trained on him.
I Shoulda Seen It Comin' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John lawless
Date written: 02/02/2023
Eleanor Rigby and Father McKenzie
Oh, so lonely -- Where do such people come from
They come from all walks of life, from the priesthood
on down to the hangers-on at village churches
And where do they all belong? -- In a desiccated church
where Father McKenzie preaches sermons that no one hears
and Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice thrown at others' weddings,
surely lamenting her own lonely, dreamlike existence...
They belong together, but Church doctrine, frustratingly, keeps them apart
this lonely woman with the happy face, concealing the ache deep inside
and the devoted priest, so determined to look ministerial, to deliver a sermon
for no audience, that no one will hear, that will save no one...
So many lonely people in society today, like Eleanor Rigby
people who come from nowhere, whose contributions go unrecognized
and who return to nowhere, buried along with their names --
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...
August 08,
Eleanor Rigby Who was she Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jerry T. Curtis
"Nope, nope, nope! I already know why you're here. Don't you dare fell me with that chainsaw!," exclaims the dying tree.
"Well, I need firewood. It's rather obvious you've seen better days", I said.
"Why shouldn't I cut you down?," I asked.
"Because I could spring back to life," the tree replies.
"Spring back to life? Ha! Look at you. You're quite literally a shell of your own self; stripped of leaves. You truly expect to sprout new blossoms?"
"Well, impatient man, I'm still standing, aren't I?,"
asked the tree, with a hint of irritation
"You call this standing? The autumn wind is not your friend. You don't look erect to me.You're fighting a losing battle," I retorted.
"The fact is, I haven't toppled yet. Just leave me alone," says the tree, frustratingly.
"Who says you have to topple? The fact is, you're clearly on your last legs, or should I say, leg?" I asked.
"Ha! How funny(sarcastically). Wouldn't you choose to stay alive as long as possible if you were me? I need more time. Why not come back after spring?," pleads the tree.
"Your tenacity is admirable, but you're already disintegrating. What makes you think you'd survive the Fall season?," I wondered.
"I'm not getting through to you, am I?," says the tree.
"Nope!, "I replied, emphatically.
"No changing your mind, huh?"
"I'm afraid you're bargaining to the wrong guy," I said.
"Fine! You win. Cut me down. Enjoy your firewood, says the dying tree, with resignation.
Date written: 06/15/2023
Looking around our old apartment,
Is like visiting a place from my childhood,
Familiarity hanging on the remnants of a memory,
Your favourite seat by the window,
Where the sun would refract off the glass,
And kiss across your eyelids turning them gold and red,
Now it’s just a space,
Frustratingly vacant,
Everything here reminds me of you,
And it hurts,
A deep aching hollow pain,
It’s endless,
The memory’s taunt me,
I don’t want to be like this,
To wallow in self pity,
I don’t want your death to be all about me,
Because you made me so happy,
Now I feel like I’m betraying that,
Live life you used to tell me,
The tattoo on your shoulder -
“Love is living life to the full.”
Now your not here,
Your nowhere,
And I’d rather be no where with you,
Than anywhere without you.
On a monotone Monday,
under grey skies with perpetual rain,
I became a devotee to your magnificence.
A poetic pilgrim wandering upon a path,
which would lead me to your embrace.
Intoxicated with your romantic reflection,
my ink is seduced in your rumination.
My passion is like the raging sea,
come feel my love, come satisfy me.
Oceans apart, I swim in sensual shores,
that would bring me to your door,
but alone, I drown in shallow streams.
I've become jealous of departing birds,
craving for the clouds to carry me
from lilac dusks to scarlet dawns,
so I can ascend like sunrise,
descend upon you like sunset.
You are the essence of nature,
I, a mighty tree bowing to it's mistress,
desiring your heart and soul,
not just your earthly existence,
Your love strengthens my roots,
as they spread rapidly to reach you.
My hands have become lonely,
without your fingers interlocked in-between.
Your aroma intoxicates my senses,
your persona like perfumed petals,
weaves poetry inside my mind,
which flows upon a seedless garden,
patiently waiting for soothing blossoms.
There is no remedy for my syndrome,
as each day without you,
I relapse,
without your rehabilitative scarlet lips.
Kiss me like poetry,
before I suffocate,
drain me into a steamy silence,
where there is no need for verses,
so we can merge in carnal mists.
Lust is an infatuated captive animal,
a starved beast frustratingly caged.
Set me free...
For you hold the key.
Time cries for you, reluctantly moving,
with each beat of our hearts.
In darkness I supplicate with the stars,
with your name on the tip of my tongue.
Devotion is a unity of parts,
only we can piece it together.
With you I want Sunday mornings,
where our eyes meet in rousing raptures
with your lips as my nourishing nutrient.
Love is not just an emotion,
it's a whimsical fluctuating journey -
and you are my final resting place.
We don’t always agree but we always will be
When she wears her hair up she wears her confidence all the way down, from head to toe she is business ready all fancy with a compass steady
She knows her direction, and when she is in the office she looks so, so, sexy
Hair up so it’s about to go down
Heels tall
Everything feels right…when you run your fingers through my pony tail she told me
Kissing her cheeks because the hair is out the way
Taking her make up off because it’s the end of the day, still looking better each day
Can’t wait till the days when we are living together, and you ask babe, have you seen my hair tie?
As I will then look all over the cluttered bathroom that I said I was going to clean yesterday to find nothing
Then l would look in bedroom by dark coffee table and rustic wood finished dresser, upon the dresser I would find her favorite black hair tie
With a joyous smile handing it to her to watch her put her hair up in a pony tail or bun
I love when your hair is up perfectly unperfect in a bun this time, to you the bun is frustratingly a little crooked
But to me it’s just how I like it
Everything about you is just how I like it, with eyes that can’t be denied
Your eyes are so much brighter when your hair is up like the stars at the peak of darkness
Life seemed like I was stuck in the depths of my darkness until I caught a glimpse of your gaze
And no matter what since day one I never looked away
p.s. because I want to be the only to hand you your hair tie…