Long Inattention Poems
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I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis,
passing chambers of an Heiress
(though no need to feel embarrassed)
through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless.
A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex-
poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics
carving symbols, round and runic,
in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness.
Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues –
patchwork paths consume my shoes
(chasing foggy curlicues
twisting, twirling by in twos,
floating anywhere they choose),
leaving footprints that confuse
vagrant wispy retinues
of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering.
Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew,
shifting Shadows I pursue
(wearing faces I once knew,
slipping slowly from my view)
turn their backs to bid adieu
leaving stars to tempt me through
Awful Tower residues
mocking treasures time outgrew
in the birth of old from new
framing pageants in review
midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering.
Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension
caught in twilight’s intervention
– still unlit (in stark dissension),
therefore seething with a tension
in the quiet apprehension
of the Watchman’s inattention
to the night-time’s bold pretension
to her power, not to mention,
to her hyperspace extension
(far beyond my comprehension
of the sundown’s bleak dimension) –
on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness.
Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles,
me, a simple abject vassal,
trailing moonlit floating castles,
– fickle feet, but fingers facile
grasping straws and pendant tassels –
as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness.
I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things,
neath a sky alive with wings
(hear the Nightingale, she sings),
midst the whispered murmurings
soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings
pacing palaces in rings,
while their hapless footfall clings
to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins.
Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries,
(while the wind beside me scurries
as an ermined hermit hurries)
lurk my sleepy woes and worries
(glowing faint’ but growing blurry)
which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2
Look at the lines begging your touch, beautifully, aerodynamically sound.
The color and aesthetics call for you to blend and wrap around.
The curves, and lines nurture you, adding layers to what you touch.
Feel the connection between body and road, a car will never do so much.
No isolation to hold you back, you’re one with the road to search.
You start with your feet planted on either side, in charge of this lofty perch.
Standing, balance it beautifully, it’s movements yours to command.
When the power goes on you’ll feel it within, together with the sound.
It’s flexible and vibrates, the likes of which will twist your thoughts around....
As you rev the motor, the power will travel your body lifting you among the clouds.
The control you have will mesmerize, as you control its very breath.
You’ll feel like a chameleon, caressing the road on which you will be blessed...
The vibrations of the road will touch you, as you ride this jewel with flair.
It feels wilder than a car, as your mind embraces it, but beware...
As it engages you heart and mind, powerful fantasies begin flowing through the air.
But pay close attention, for danger is always leering about, inattention can death
impart.
It can be primal, it can be brutal, and it can be heaven beyond compare.
But mostly it is freedom, a commodity seldom found, anywhere.
Raise your face shield. Feel the power of what you’re riding in.
The wind caresses your face with its heavy sigh, against your sensitive skin.
Stretch out your hand. Feel the wind. Allow it between your fingers to flow so rare…
And the wind will answer in return, stroking, your body, clothes, and hair.
The feel of the wind is intoxicating, as your life with it you share.
It makes you feel in control, yes, of even the sensuous air.
The wind, and the power… beckon your sense of freedom forth.
The road goes off to the horizon, your buddies at your side.
Your lady is there snug against you. Are you ready for this ride?
Dedicated to my father Roger French riding across country at 78, my brother
Dale French riding with him, and their friend Jerry Rose.
I was a soul born in chaos
my beginnings and consciousness infinitesimal
I have been blasted by forces
outside of my own natures call
and yet I can see the raw beginning
of a mind fluid
with the elements of the cosmos
this "life" has been an experience of
implosions , explosions , explorations
bombardment , impartment , eruption
corruption , inattention , and deliberations
my consciousness is aware of it's implications
my judgments categorize the experiences
such as a minute star is transformed
by the particles and forces
to which it is subjected
So too are we
but cosmological law
is annulled in it's full power
when in contact with chaos
I am fully cognizant of both
moral and cosmological law
I can jump off a cliff
or commit violence upon humans
I can actually pervert
the substance of cosmos where I reside
instead of planting , growing , harmonizing
refining my alignment with nature
I can poison , deform and subject
every participation to destruction
and as long as mankind's children
continue in the predator mentality
of their six thousand year experiments
of every violation of that which they should love
I am in total agreement with nature
that which is destructive to growth
needs removal , only with mankind
removal is "replacement" of ideology
a transformation of perspective and viewpoints
where the mind finds it desirable
to increase the beauty of LIFE
and not to poison it's fluid
the superlative and majestic cosmos
that our tinkering seeks to dissect
manipulate , rearrange it's manifestations
and in reflection this one thought
is of itself an infinitesimal insignificance
when standing before the face of LIFE
but it is my thought , my mind and
created by the most intensive force that
exists among mankind , LOVE of LIFE
HOPE in LIFE , and the seeking of every
manifestation of it's Glory
no man has seen God
but we at great length consider
all that we may perceive that to be ...
COPYRIGHT © 2015
C Michael Miller
PoetryofProvidence
Within the singing stillness of the sphere, I awaken from a breeze,
Consciousness, a proud guardian in the temple of endlessness,
The eternal fire in the hands of time, keeper of the ephemeral flame,
Watches with fervor the dawn's bleaching within the womb of the soul,
The caress of each now, a sacred breath,
In the sunrise of thought, a discreet flight through the branches of eternity.
The eyeball, a beacon of enlightenment, ever attentive and vigilant,
Stalks the hidden realm catalyzing the clear waters of pivotal sight,
Its nerves are canvases, meanings unveiled in premeditation,
Sometimes, it bows under the intensity of exposure,
Other times, it recreates under the caress of fulfillment, when the nagging prophecy
Receives the embodied crown of revelation.
Casting aside the quantum thread of ignorance,
The arms of wisdom embracing the sparks of knowledge,
The knowing heart's tears transform ashen puzzles
Into mosaics reflecting the passion and sharpness of new awakening,
For the dance of consciousness, luminous and aware,
Gently removing the eruptions of the sterility of indifference,
Surpassing the boundaries of the self in the search for ecstasy.
A lantern of meditation in the deluge of full light,
The shared and ample harvest - no soft crumb of bread lost,
Encrusted in the deceptive slab, the sheen of false gravity,
The splendor of the guardian, never overshadowed - the eternal morning, pierced by the torch,
Revealing the clear brilliance of joy - the identity of the pilgrim heart, dispelling shadows of blindness.
In the attentive web of the moment, consciousness weaves the scattered shards
Into luminous portraits, recontouring the open faces of generosity,
Discarding the careless spindle of inattention, the clear mark of apathy,
Born from willful ignorance, the seeker animates the hand of the attentive -
To listen! To see! To feel! To move in the rebirth of deed!
The spirit enlivened through the profoundly accented humility of grace.
Running cracks of lead flaked paint, spiders across the front door like a grandfather's
forehead.
Its hinges squeal from years of inattention and forgotten maintenance
Floor boards moan a song of dismemberment and forgotten age
While musty gloom thickens the air – inhibiting, restricting, compressing breaths
Entrance ways lead to hallways which culminate and connect enclosed spaces,
hovering in an atmosphere of haunt and mourn
Conversations linger, echoing within walls of dine and feast
settings arranged from ritual –
two plates,
two bowls,
two cups,
two knives,
two spoons,
two forks,
two napkins,
two chairs,
with only voice and ephemeral trace.
Twisted unleveled stairs, escalate to second stories
letters to love and hate cover ancient mourning boards.
Segmented space divides the infant from maturation.
Cracked spine, chipped rails, exposing the wooden crib core
Superficial angst and rage characterizing the infant's facade,
yet delicate love exposed in clean white linens pressed and laid in perfection
sets the bedding stage for stuffed bears and embroidered blankies
Toppled bookcase defecates bound knowledge across adult wooden bed frame
disheveling sheets, rugs, and right angles,
its half fallen posture exposes entrance way to hidden passages.
Between walls, moving slow as not to catch thread to exposed nail, pipe, or wire
shoulders grazing support beams, pace entranced by flattening florescence bulbed ceilings
Each step enclosing space tighter and tighter
Climax turns to anticlimax as exit opens to
a hermetic cell of textural paint echoing skin blotched and boiled.
Surrounding walls of tattered gold, ulcer red and puss filled purple,
each based with blotched skin.?Encircles full length mirror exposing views of deceased
discomfort –
Black glass glows within frame of ornate wood
spiking and curling with baroque transcendence
Reflecting back a ghost of future deceased persona.
Window to the Soul
The eyes of lovers are open doors, unlocked by true love and intimacy.
Each of us holds ourselves captive in that inner panic room, that shelter we begin building upon our first disappointment and heartbreak.
Every hurt and betrayal adds a brick or stone…a log or nail to that tranquil room that protects our fragile, egg shell souls.
Their eyes were locked together once.
Hers like the glowing amber of whiskey as the light shines through the glass.
His, the earthy green of a moss covered rock, sheltered under the canopy of majestic trees.
She gave him the intoxicating power of her untarnished soul.
He gifted her with the safe refuge of his woodland hideaway, his eager inner-self.
Sadly, his gaze began to falter, his head lowered to hide his shame.
Unable to escape into her lover's abode, she became frightened, her power wasted on common sights.
In rare moments of connection she hoped and exhaled. But all too soon his far away stare looked past her.
Without moving a muscle, he veiled his soul.
He tore down her refuge with inattention, neglect...
...only to leave her helpless.
“Look at me!”, the scream rips from her glare.
“See me!”, her brow raises its mime’s voice.
Not able to continue this intimacy alone, for intimacy requires plurality, she looks into a mirror.
Loneliness demands frequent intoxicated binging.
She pours her whiskey gaze into herself and actively forgets.
Her naked, broken soul curls up without shelter, shivering, exposed.
As raw as a body, flayed to muscle and bone.
A boyfriend without a future ...
- Say darling can I live with you...!?
- Yes, tomorrow ....
- Tomorrow... !!!
- It's tomorrow....
Remembering that "tomorrow never comes
..."
and tomorrow is always tomorrow ....
Request from an insecure boyfriend
- Honey would you marry me...!!?
- Yes I would ...
- Cool ... when?
- I said I'd marry ... didn't say when, nor
how ...
Are you right how you would marry and
when?"
-I would marry if you were the right guy, if
you wanted to marry ..."
if you were someone else ... !!!
Incult and Inattention
"Are you weird today, honey?"
- Yes, I am...
- Yes, what is it?
- I must tell you: Je ne t'aime plus ...
baby i'm gonna leave you ...
- Only that... !? I imagined you were going
to say that you don't love me anymore,
and you
would leave me now ... !!!
Direct, indirect to a fool ...
- Honey, I'll love you at the sea ...!
- The sea is immense to drown your love ...
- I desire you to understand me and love
me ...!
- I will love you even in death ... !!!
- You wish to die, bastard, just die
don't include me in your plans ...
- Tell me my love, am I allowed to love you
...?
- yes In a few years maybe ...!
- Ah! CAN I hope ...!?
-Sure science develops rapidly
in those times, you'll may be able to find
me on MARS ...!
- What a splendid words dear...!
I reckon I've seen about everything in my nigh four-score years.
Obnoxious teens, obnoxious elders and unpleasant Wall-Mart cashiers,
And those baggy pants with the crotch nearly reaching to the knees,
But folks with a cell phone in their ear compare to none of these!
Some people sport spiked hair dyed orange, red or green.
Others with rings piercing their lips - a weird sight to be seen!
Gorgeous ladies flaunt tacky tattoos that seem mighty *****.
Plus all of that, they have a cell phone glued to the ear!
Vexatious ringtones on some cellular phones cause me to cringe,
'Specially if in a fine bistro or church my serenity they impinge!
The "William Tell Overture" in a concert is mighty fine to hear,
But please spare me that tinny tune from the cell phone in your ear!
Some use their cell phones while driving - to all others oblivious,
Never minding that such inattention could be very injurious!
Seems to me 'twould be tricky trying to concentrate and steer,
With that consarned cellular phone sticking in the ear!
Cell phones are an improvement in communications, I suppose,
With their music, cameras, computers and a dial that glows.
But, alas, for future generations I often wonder and fear:
Will babes be born with a cell phone protruding from the ear?
Entry for Simon Rogerson's "Let's Explore Digital Technology" Contest
(13 Feb 22)
My mind is in confusion
I think there's been an intrusion.
The things I see are just an illusion
and I am seeking a solution
Before I'm overwhelmed with emotion.
In my mind, there's a combination
of possession
of obsession
of aggression
Something has blurred my vision
and has lowered my ambition
I don't know right now if this is a confession
it's been a while since our last short session
But, I believe there's been a deviation
and a disassociation
*Stop all communication.
*There has been a breach in the information.
*Alternative initiation.
*New determination.
*Protocol transition.
System reboot: New variation
/: No more distraction
Subject isolation
/: No more frustration
Lose passion,
Lose affection,
Lose foundation.
System configuration
New partition.
Other personality integration.
Could not delete all old files, system malfunction.
Conclusion
Now I am an amalgamation of silence and communication.
an accumulation of inattention and consideration.
a combination of relaxation and agitation.
articulation of imagination and exaggeration.
So, what's your recommendation?
Miscellaneous Tidbits
By Tom
Stupidity
A trait for which medical science has found no cure.
Full of Dregs
Ever look at a drop of water under a microscope?
I imagine our lives appear much the same in God’s eye.
A Pancake’s Two Sides
One thing worse than never having enough,
is never having any.
Call It Individuality
Just as there are opposite sides to each coin,
There also are opposing views to your every idea.
Intelligence Bests Speed
Leading the pack isn’t necessarily being faster than the other dogs,
Sometimes it’s knowing where the shortcuts are!
There are two ways of doing every task,
The way you prefer it, and the way you get it.
More people are fleeced through inattention,
than by their lack of knowledge.
You may criticize the results,
But you have to praise my effort.
The source that has grub staked me to life,
will one day declare my note is due.
Then our debt will either be marked “paid in full”
or “weighed in the balance and found wanting”
I fail in getting the desired answer,
because most times I’m asking the wrong question.