Long Gawky Poems
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The Reluctance of the Young Runner
by Edmund Siejka
He was a gawky teenager
On a high school track team
Intimidated by his coach
Who exercised almost total control
Over him.
He was examined
Tested
Questioned what he ate
How much he weighed
It became too much to bear
That he couldn’t tell anyone you
How lonely he felt.
Running at a track meet
Neck and neck for third place
The finish line seemed unreachable
His parents, watching from crowded bleachers,
Were proud
Impatiently calling out his name
When suddenly he fell
Tripping over some unknown thing lying on the track.
Falling, his long legs cascaded over the white lines of the track
Colliding with the front runner
Who had the looks of an actor
And the temperament of a snake.
The coach was angry
Thick fingers pummeled the young runner’s chest
Because he fell
The team was disappointed
Not so much for him
But for the lead runner
Who struggled to third place.
Facing dismissal from the team
An inner smile caressed the young boy’s heart
No more coach, no more watching
Waves of relief gently cascaded over him
Bringing with it
A sudden realization
That he would no longer
Have to hide.
His shabby house sat on my street, and he
was like that run-down house - unwashed; unkempt.
So Barklay, with his slick black hair, would be
our school yard’s crow, one pecked at with contempt.
Another on my street was also jeered.
Poor Janno, homely girl with eyes that crossed.
The birds that mocked declared that she was weird;
though smart, she had a sparrow’s wings less glossed
And vaguely I recall the taunting words
that followed Janno and the gawky crow.
And not among the flock of strutting birds,
I could conceive an inkling of their woe.
Befriending rare birds, I did it my way.
I'd walk them home, for I don't shun a stray!
June 15, 2014
Nonagenarian father afflicted,
his body electric awry
with congenital heart failure,
before long twill bid existence bye
whose physical well being -
corporeal essence inevitably will die
unavoidable manifest destiny...
accompanied into afterlife courtesy death
envision caricature immortal grim reaper
moost ofttimes (normally leering)
brandishing trademark scythe,
impossible mission to skirt dark shadow
creeping closer along edge of night, not shy,
eclipsing former robust native son Brooklyn
once upon time aforementioned sturdy strong guy
metamorphosed gallantly,
gangly, and gawky youth
courtesy blood, sweat and tears
conditioned into muscular trim physique
with equal fervor did apply
figurative nose to grindstone, and well nigh
academically succeeded (think flying colors)
attending City College (back then free - no lie)
deservedly acquiring mechanical engineering degree
furthering advanced studies at Columbia University
General Electric career employee
opting early retirement at age sixty
subsequently clocking thirty plus orbits around sun,
a widower past fifteen plus years, he
steadfastly remained married approximately
half century, and twas... understandably
grievously, honestly, and inconsolably sad
when terminal illness stole key
once dirt poor wife i.e. bride (never bartered)
who bore him three offspring - me
including an older and younger sister
acutely aware I (nsync with siblings)
may learn (ex post facto), our father
though art(fully) adept with smarts already told
tragically could succumb (think demise - see
above) regarding pandemic
indiscriminately claiming thee
storied Zayda as linkedin with progeny
thyself begat (deux) from yours truly,
and biological kith brought forth
their precious kin, whose limp body
born aloft without survivors
without filial piety
bequeathed as Boyce Brandon Harris'
soul into realm of dead souls eternity.
The bend in the path through the autumn woods
Obscures my vision to what lies ahead
Brilliant colors of fall's leaves so good
Beauty that surrounds doesn't stop the dread
What is beyond the road's bend veiled from sight
There's no way I can know for its concealed
'Pon each step God gives me just enough light
Going forward despite my fright eyes peeled
God always supplied my needs plus some wants
He's always furnished enough shining light
I now need His presence to smooth away daunts
And give extra grace to get good insights
The bend in road could be smooth or rocky
Help, Lord, in aging not to be gawky
finis'
Vocabulist nonalcoholic punchdrunk stupor January 1st, 2020
Unlike the vast population swath,
with painful hangover
average celebrant merely
doth confusedly blink,
who devoutly pledge
new year resolution
to give up drink
immediately fall off wagon
as he/she eagerly downs
shot after fermented shot
while forearms link
with family, friends,
strangers, et cetera
and immediately rethink
alcoholics anonymous pledge
gamely nod and playful wink.
Yours truly (me) never found
wasted, soused, besotted,
et cetera alone
and/or with round
of best buddies real,
and/or imaginary
nor got stone drunk crowned,
(cuz never did I make
friends - no lie),
plus never felt compunction
to quaff hard inebriant
(think booze hound)
life as extremely gawky introvert
(think long haired
pencil necked geek)
preferred company of books
with cute button nose bound
between pages, this theme
I could expound
till cows come home to roost
after bovines well rested
from their sound
sleep unready and unwilling
to confront battleground
(think slaughterhouse five),
thus beef rendered me, we clowned
and hoofed up memories
promising each other pound
for pound, we would stand our ground
never freeload, mooch, sponge...
nor EVER succumb to the bottle
no matter how hardbound,
especially when attaining rough-age
older not necessarily wiser
if necessary resorting and astound
ding farmer in the dell
to Diet of Worms smellbound
while reenacting Holy
Roman Empire called
back in the hay day -1521
courtesy Emperor Charles V
offering sobering admission
lips ne'er taste amber and/or clear
liquids of the gods, no matter
believe me you reader hopefully
aforesaid confession doth not dumbfound.
Life was hard when growing up cus I was poor.
Farm work always needed doing, chore after chore,
wearin' hand-me-downs, never gettin' new toys.
No time for playin' with friends, like other boys.
They made fun of me for pickin' melons and corn,
but it was the world into which I had been born.
It wasn't easy gettin' by, those days in the South,
especially when they called me, 'Melon Mouth.'
There was a road that passed by our farmland
where I sold our crops in a little wooden stand.
Folks pedaled on shiny bikes and passed me by
until one day a girl fell off hers and began to cry.
I picked her up and made sure she was alright.
She said, "I'm okay, but that gave me a fright!"
She'd hit a rock and her bike landed on a stump,
causing a tire to go flat, but I had an air pump.
She asked why she'd never seen me ridin' around,
so, I told her I didn't have a bike to get into town.
She frowned and thanked me, then on she rode,
I kicked at the dirt and felt as gawky as a toad.
A week or so later, I saw her riding a new bike.
It looked sleek and fast; the kind that I would like.
She nodded and smiled, so I smiled right back.
Yeah, that red bike had it all. Nothin' did it lack.
Mom said I'd had a visitor when workin' in the field.
Somethin' left for me beneath a tarp, concealed.
Quickly, I lifted the cover, gasped then exhaled
when I saw the girl's old bike. All words failed!
I found out that she had become my new neighbor.
Together, we fixed up the bike. It took lots of labor.
I fell in love with that girl, whose name was Helen,
when she said she could eat a whole watermelon.
She helped me paint the frame, melon rind green.
It was the coolest lookin' bike that I'd ever seen!
Cardboard melon slices with seeds behind the spokes
made the city boys keep teasin' me with lame jokes.
But I didn't care what cruel names they called me
because they suffered from green-eyed jealousy.
I had the prettiest girl in town riding at my side
and I knew when we grew up, she'd be my bride.
June 30, 2022
A Watermelon Fantasy Ride To Feed My Imagination
Contest sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
(Asia may not know, this LIX city split baby boomer now ranks himself as an in denture charred sir vent reflecting on that painful instant when enamel collided with frozen water versus the recent removal of all teeth - courtesy of periodontal disease, and reckons how quaint that facial fracas).
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inxs of cold playing air
froze natural pond, where
over head Canadian geese did blare
honking the latest goose sip loud and clear
when from behind a bush
(color antler protected doe against fear
of smashed pumpkin) did peek a deer
alert to any danger by parking
upright either one or both ear
lest predator doth lurk and induce fear
while Harris Family and friends
oblivious attired in wintry gear
which protection from cold caused difficulty to hear
necessitating cupped gloved hands
to punctuate every muffled word
to be but barely heard
akin to talking with mouth full of custard
above the quiet riotous mirth
from this then gawky child nerd
precariously maintaining balance
on his skates and glide like a bird
such attempts made
this then boy appear quite absurd
ah, if only this mind of mine
did two step quick think
but woe misfortune awaited
across the bumpy natural rink
blithely jettisoning myself hither and yon
like a rolling stone going plink
unaware while in camouflage pose
disguised as one sneaky slippery fink
that snuck up in a blink
that found me squarely face down
shattering left front tooth
immediately discovered
via tongue as private sleuth
finding me in extreme agitated state forsooth
as if on fire from red hot chili peppers
wrought from jagged booth
winning sympathy from parents
who did level best to tend distraught son
who ushered playback of events
with less disastrous rerun
praying for an angel
to grant reverse outcome brought none
gut wrenching grief
immediately terminated former fun
damage irreversible and
perfect white smile forever broke con!
Before you I stand free, on rolling hills
crevices, oceans, deserts, floods, laughter
failures, victories stencilled on skin
wringing luminous blood from
heaving soils where justice fountains glisten
a Presence, your reflection in sacred dialogue
Glorious in guilt and innocence ~ rebirthing, anchoring light into a Planet learning to receive
peacock feathers on crown, lion claws
at ankles, sunflower seeds dissolving in Love for Africa’s ebony longings blossoming
Woman of South, walking portal raw in
Peace I come, wisdom embraced
all encompassing enigmatic questing Heart !
scattering mielies, proteas along footprints
drawing down power from liquid Sun
sharpening truth in resonant Oneness shelled
Caped in empathic Forgiveness
my liberty leaves floating with
silver trout in Orange River rippling
equalising dualities in moonlight breaths
daisy petals softly blow purpose in lullaby winds
Bones now strong, fibres stretched
cabbage leaves open as abundance unfolds
see pitfalls, pebbles sinking, voids unleash
Violet Flames untying ancestral knots
as wheels disciplined turn in pirouette
feminine arteries intuition bled
Steadfast I stand, no stumbling, nurturing
graduated from crawl to gurgling toddler
gawky teen to Gaia-Goddess serene
within my African continent drum-beating
where Roses and Thorns garland to
ripple for more than Sum Total to unfurl in
A W A R E F O R G I V I N G P E A C E
Ham player that by
strength of
DANGEROUS LINKS,
performs
the best roles...
wrong individual
that imagine he is GOD,
but he is the Dog....
He is a GAWKY PLAYER
that
by means other than"
we imagine"
play in the best
teams in
all positions...
God gave me a great gift of glory
A gift of a good gracious guardian,
Gifts of Gaiety, Gumption and Grief
God’s gift grants no gates for groveling
Nor are they gimmicks, glitches, nor guilt
Thus, the gift so grand gives Gypsies and Greeks
The same kind of gratitude and grace
All kinds of genders and gauche gawky geeks
Are equaled as gifts of the Glory God
I have no time for gibbers and gabbles
But to glean through ungarbling gospels
Giving boys and girls no chance for greed,
No chance for gruesome grueling gossips
My gift is not gullible for gambits
Plus, my gift of character speaks no arrogance