Long Impossibly Poems
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When I was a boy I did not understand
Just how much was carried by my Father’s hand.
But now that I’m older, I stand in his shoes
And see all the burdens a man can’t refuse.
I’d nothing but time that I wasted each day.
With no nine-to-five and with no bills to pay.
Through years and experience fin'ly I’ve found
That I understand why he wasn’t around.
It’s funny, I think, but in ways kind of cruel
How time, of all things, makes us each out as fool.
There’s never enough and it goes by so fast,
Before we all know it, the future’s the past.
Each moment we’re given, they say, is a gift
But good times zip past us, impossibly swift.
We live in the present, the hours drag on
And suddenly realize how much is gone…
I’m sorry now, Dad. I just wish I had known
The lessons I’ve learned since I made my own home.
The burdens that came with each choice I made:
The chores to be done and the bills to be paid.
The worries and fears that we cannot control
That heavily weigh upon our hearts and souls.
Forgive me please, Dad, for now I understand
Just how much is carried by a Father’s hand.
The darkest of time flavored by lightest of eve
The hour denies by the minute receive
We travel together... You and I
Forbidden we be made eye to eye
And too near is the closest past
We have answers but we ask
It is beauty that we knew were ugly
It does not take few... It takes many
I think I think what you think
But you don't dream what I dream to dream
I love to like and like to love
And I do hate yet hate to deserve
As all shall come to pass... all will become
Because we are forever ourselves we can never run
We do not hide to be left behind
We hide to once more redefine
And we serve without an inkling to servitude
One's worth to only be determined by attitude
Means to an end is an end to its means
Where you come from doesn't mean you have been
I seek distance to be drawn near
I am afraid and I do not fear
Endless possibilities impossibly possible
A matter of credibility to be incredibly credible
Skies the limit but the skies we do not own
We cannot fly without means... We should've known
I want to learn to unlearn if only to begin once more
It's just that simple... There is no reason for us to be here for
Alike all living things... We are unlike and we believe
The wake of the darkest hour in dusk of the lightest eve
Walking, walking, walking!
Impossibly long stretches of walk,
Miles and miles of uncertain journey,
In blazing sun, in sweltering heat,
Tranquil villages with shady trees,
Home, the destination!
Thirsty, hungry, bleeding, exhausted!
With fatigued wives and starving barefoot children they trudge,
Little babies hanging like sandbags from their shoulders, they stumble,
Tears dry on children’s cheeks!
Men and women…they walk, walk, walk
Until their feet can not move an inch further,
Leaving the cities, where they toiled in exchange for a few rupees…
Day after day, months after months,
Hunched under shanties, with empty rumbling stomachs,
Cruelty is the only language they faced!
Trudge beside railroads, follow tracks,
No buses, no trains, no vehicles,
Only two weary feet to carry them to the destination,
Human bodies plodding with all their might!
It’s the darkest of moonless nights…
A few stars glinting in the somber sky to guide them to destiny!!!!
Universe seemed calm, and uncaring!
Come Rest, Come Sleep,
Come Death…blood-stained tracks,
Home eluded them for ever!
After we met
I thought we really had something,
Really hit it off.
It wasn’t the words we spoke,
The easy fluorescent trail they made.
Maybe it was the Japanese lantern
Glowing over your bare shoulder
Or the smile you threw
To the side-
To someone.
Or maybe it was the cool damp air,
Slight seduction of rain
But no rain.
Perfect, cool molecules,
Layer on layer,
Air sitting on air.
But after, I couldn’t find you.
I couldn’t find you
In the heavy-sitting valleys,
Behind the cool barriered hedges
With stone guard dogs,
In the palm shadowed boulevards
Or the canyon mazes.
I couldn’t find you
In the final exhalations of space,
On sun baked, cracked cement plaza drives.
I couldn’t find you
In the starkly lined avenues
Amongst the serious-expressioned manikins.
It really is a desert here, huh?
Had said the pale cheeked waiter from Wisconsin
While we waited for you to come back.
Yes, I thought, touching the sweating water glass.
A stage set in a desert
Filled with mirages and promises
And doors that no one answers
And roads that curve toward the sun.
We both knew you weren’t coming back.
I won’t find you again
But I will keep looking
And looking
And looking.
There is always that chance.
Yes, to find someone like you.
That chance.
I leave alone,
Tip under plate.
A dog barks at my steps,
Waits, barks again.
We are both close,
Yet impossibly,
Far from home.
In that meteoric moment
she exhibited eternal qualities of wonderfully wrought womanhood,
calm,disciplined and candid,
adorned with few distinctions from the rest behind her
the loving leadership was projected in painstaking posture,
brutal perfection,a suffering of diligence amounting to total serenity,
she being a gem amongst stones,
for inexperience a cure,
synchronicity simple & symetrical like ripples in a river,
the troupe twirls & turns as leaves whirl gingerly in pools of water livid,
their torsos taut like trunks of young & vital trees,faces flowers,
brilliant when in cold morning view,
hands impossibly curved on extended arms,hearts placid,
without looking the dancers drape their faith
upon the integrity of her warm luminosity,
the lead lioness quietly commands their orbiting obeisance,
in her hushing eyes the sparkle of a rich race communicates confection
to the contemplative congregation,
she is a Godess in the midst of nymphs,
something dangerous,calamitous,manifested mutely in the expression
of a posterior dancer
whom strangely stares at the back & soul of the leading lady in stance,
this suggestive & supportive figure embodying dispassionate envy,
strategically laying seige
to the gloriously innocent leader of this cultural romance,
a reminder reminiscent of Eve's two children
in the forgotten fields of antiquity
where success was hunted savagely by the weakness
inherent amid imps -
This poem is premised upon a photograph of a traditional Cambodian dance troupe -
J.A.B.
Tranquil air trembles,
a soft shimmer rising through the chaos
as thunder blooms like a distant memory
I’m only now remembering.
Lightning unfurls in slow, impossible arcs,
buzzing with a language older than breath—
a whisper of light tasting the edges of my skin,
tingling like a secret waking up.
Ionized molecules drift toward me,
metallic, fresh, impossibly clean,
as if the world has been rinsed
in some celestial river.
The scent vibrates through my body,
a quiet acceleration,
energy gathering in spirals,
lifting me into a place
where nature feels sentient
and I feel seen.
The storm humbles me—
not with force,
but with its strange intimacy,
its dreamlike certainty
that everything is connected
in ways I can’t quite name.
Anticipation curls with uncertainty,
a beautiful madness,
a sensory tide rising higher
than thought can follow.
Passion sharpens,
focus deepens,
power moves through me
like a benevolent phantom.
Joy becomes a luminous pulse,
a euphoric high that feels
half-spiritual, half-imagined,
as if the sky itself
has leaned down to touch me
with affection made of thunder.
And when the crash finally comes,
it doesn’t break the dream—
it completes it,
a cosmic heartbeat
echoing through my own.
Caroline foister 1/19/2026
Robert James Liguon Tempest contest
Saw your picture the other day
And I realize that I have forgotten... you
Memories flooding back like when fading away
Much so like a stranger I once knew
How it all came to be no more...
I wish I could be someone else but no
The unbecoming feelings that was hard to ignore
The becomings to be over with no one left to hold
I wonder now... how long have I held on
Am I more than glad to have pass the phase?
Ever so in love I once remember to have belong
The oh so many scenarios to impossibly chase
Lives moving on to be the perfect excuse
Memories only become easier to forget
Have we the lives forced to choose?
Perhaps this one thing is the choice I'll most regret
It needs to be over to feel just like so
When seen was your picture the other day
I wish I could be someone else but no
When memories come flooding back before fading away
I lie on a bed of grass, huddled beneath
this vast expanse of night sky
with the breeze passing in light swirls
over my upturned face,
all my senses alight.
I gaze at that smooth disc
of ardent argent,
unmarred by confining cloud
or pestiferous phase,
clear, full, and impossibly bright.
I wonder at what's brought me here,
to this point in my life;
so many, many questions to be asked;
and all posed to that strictest and secretive guide,
that which we style as a soul.
Rumination, on this field of earth
and in the endless fields of the mind,
provides precious few answers;
yet I continue, ever and anon, to question,
for such, it seems, is my lot.
Is all that's transpired due
to the designs of destiny,
fate's decree -
or simply
the cruel caprices of chance?
Is there a reason, dictated by eternity's will,
for a lone heart to suffer so;
for entwined stars to be torn apart,
one to soar, beautiful and shining,
and one to fall, scarred and dimmed?
The moon knows not,
nor answers my call;
distant and aloof, it returns my scrutiny,
impassive and serene, it quells
the raging storm inside me.
Quieted, I linger,
somehow unable to leave -
and for a time, remain,
entranced under the pale orb
that floats the night above.
In all things, give thanks.
Surrounded,
overwhelmed by disassociating depression,
learn gratitude.
Gratitude, a sacred noun,
positive attitude, a secular verb phrase.
Depression and gratitude,
depressed impress.
Impossibly essential
potential.
Suppression and hope.
Hope in and through
blind and deaf as faith,
senseless passion dispowering position
over doubling down negative consequences
co-arising dissonant experience
with resonant resolutions.
Repressing naked clarity,
dualdark yet light-squared
and cubed
in fractal dialects
of holy, trauma,
sacred enslavement,
immortal despair.
Desecrated Earth
by commodified inhumanity,
capitalized corporate stricture,
giving thanks
for dawn's promised dusk.
Within,
above,
below all,
giving thanks without receiving praise,
re-acclimating gratitude,
humbling attitude.
Great commissions,
emissions,
omissions;
elevating attitudes
descending through our past.
Elevators rise to fall to rise
within great and small
freedoms of commission.
Paradise fulfills embryonic passion
as pleasure grows roots in healthcare faith
emerging from fragile hope,
contagious absence of distrust's despair.
Desperation limns failed aspirations
lacking pathological denial,
returning Earth's holistic trust
with humanity's mistrust,
light squared lust
disturbing dualistic darkness.
Energy's massive capital,
our degenerating god
of depressing idolatry.
Craven subsidies
defy investments in future health
of divestments from past pathologies.
Information capitalizes derivatives of energy,
as exformation departs from pregnant entropy.
Great commissions
of gratifying robust relationships
grow from small omissions
of history's dissonant mistrust.
In all trusted passions
and distrusted pains,
give thanks.
BLOTTED OUT
He loved,but could not say
such words,he could not find;
He loved,but could not touch
such warmth,was just too much;
He was proud,but could not praise
such sounds he could not raise;
He supported,but not with words
such feelings,witheld unheard;
Sentiment,tight reined close within
banished, unvoiced by him,
embittered by his own hurt,
a scarred child 'neath his hairshirt.
In that distant past,crippled emotions lay
imprisoned,unsaid,'til his dying day.
BUCKINGAM LACE
Sussanah
great grandma
times three
a pillow puffed
up on her knee
with daughter
in cobbled Cowfair
daily shaped
their
homespun ware
Within such humble
women dwelt
a rare
& dextrous art
fashioned out
stitch by
stitch
pillowed patterns so rich
tinkling bobbins
bewildering skill
inch by inch grew
the intricate
frill
Twisting threads
in pairs & groups
knitted
together
as interlocking loops
a town craft
then
of world renown
plain or old point
hand made lace
lost foever
with no longer
a trace
COWFAIR TO ANCHORAGE
We left our abode in old Cowfair,haggled
a price for an old shire mare.Onto the
landlord's canal boat,lock stock and barrel
for a life afloat.Farewell to our Buckingham
birthplace ,a meagre living from old point
lace.Dawdled up to Cosgrove, meals around
a blackened stove.This moveable house
painted castle and rose, a life we would not
have chose.Eighteen fifties harsh and mean,
cargo of coal, nothing stayed clean.Doff your
cap,touch your forelock at the gatekeeper's lock.
Food scarce except for or fish,perch , roach a
staple dish.Clothes drying on a line,home for a time
whilst the toddlers were young.As numbers increased
and grew ,places to sleep, all too few.Family life
became impossibly hard ,so back again to a
tied cottage in Aylesbury's Anchorage yard.
Listen to me read these poems at youtube under the name ichthys