Long Inexplicable Poems
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Another Senseless Killing...
IOWA CITY, Iowa
(killingly, jarringly inexplicable,
horribly, gruesomely, and forlornly),
the found exhumed decayed corpse
belonging to young
vibrant coed twenty year old
college student Mollie Tibbetts
perhaps a spurned, snubbed,
or scorned love seriously gone wrong,
she who disappeared
from her small hometown
in central Iowa sad swan song
now plays, where every
last drop of sorrow rung,
now weeping family, friends,
relatives, et cetera subjected wrack
with lifelong emotional pain,
which searing inescapable
grief twill unrelentingly track
ferociously, fiercely, and figuratively,
doth disallow recourse
to duck away
from heart wrenching quack
king unbearably, terribly, and scathingly
will fully bill leave ably
beak homing a folly,
mockery, and travesty,
sans time heals
all wounds (truly "FAKE"),
nonetheless psyche riving tragic
(irrevocable loss) doth pack,
a punch greater then any
all star olympic pugilist
straight to the ab
domain of opponent, where
rumor mongers mill and blab
how this, that, or
another potential suspect,...
whence tissues dab
corners of crying eyes,
an endless stream
of tears merge with gab
bulling utter dis belief
questioning the supposed all
mighty, or at a loss
to do nothing but bawl (at Baal)
into the fox sized rabbit hole
trying with futility
to block (even crawl
ling into every
rabbit hole) no bastion
against implacable
maddening crowded
house alive with murderous frenzy,
and a dialect (non
tickling) gentle Iowan drawl,
while once again this
affected soddenly wet soul
cannot process any (defying) logic,
asper the impossibly steep toll
the purposelessness killing,
a lovely gal (same age
as my youngest daughter),
whose missed presence,
(albeit her - slain
Mollie Tibbetts – permanent absence)
now created an expansive
infinite black sink hole.
With a desire, a constant fight in life begins.
Desire and aversion are dissimilar twins.
They are not emotions only but traits of fate.
The mind flutters till it's put into a checkmate.
All scriptures preach them as the root cause of distress.
Can’t a mortal find an easy way to suppress?
Indeed, without desires how could people achieve?
But ignoring its limitations makes us grieve.
The moment we enter this world, desires embark.
A child laments for food; there you find its footmark.
Lured by many, his attention takes divisions.
To shape him unique, takes several decisions.
When grows, it takes turns and makes him crave for success.
An inexplicable scuffle; he can't express.
Earns a lot of money for which his folk exclaim.
Displeased with it and tries to come out of that frame.
His aspiration drives him towards name and fame.
He does willful actions to elevate his name.
Like a run after mirages, he feels weary.
Loses interest and finds his future dreary.
As a silent spectator, he remains aloof.
Gets the gist of scriptures;finds his life as a proof.
He gets an aversion to food, success and fame.
As a matured child realizes life's a game!
PLACE: 8th
Desire and Aversion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Date: 27-09-2022
When a wise person speaks, just listen
don't waste candles while the sun is shining
inspiration we seek is already within
Pondering complete stillness
blackness in the ears
Aloneness no longer eased worries.
Embedded into our stud essence
reasons are being sought
away from the awful silence
weary, thoughtful
eyes gaze into the calm reflection
stillness soothes mental turmoil
soul shores are bathed in peace.
Alone in quiet awareness,
all blunders are forgiven.
In pursuit of greater consciousness
to unravel the untied truth.
When outward turmoil has subsided
echoes fade into quiet
resound with harmony
melodies create a peaceful symphony
Into the deep, deep woods
marks, notches, and scars
so many rings
and connected vines
a ripple of silence
still not a rustle of trees,
skewed the sound of the wind
where it used to be warm and satiated
now there is only stillness.
Hush is a faithful mate who never betrays,
in an inexplicable lightness
reaching the desired goal at last
touching souls requires stillness.
Written: February 15, 2023
You Select Again Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Unexplainable
Generations comes forth, Generations passing.
People acknowledging personal memoirs,
Reflections with the truth, No assumptions.
Accommodations inexplicable, unlike experiences.
Delays of Mysteries are similar when a loved one
transcends to another dimension they often see
things unexplainable that the breathing can't see or
explain.
Whilst the Sun and Moon not only rises and sets
Non-existent is concealed.
Rebirth: Metamorphosis, Changes, Shift. A moment
to be born, and a occasion to depart this life from
beginning to ending. Unexplainable
Yours truly borrows a phrase
courtesy the great bard
also known as
William Shakespeare's Hamlet:
"For 'tis the sport ...
Hoist by one's own petard
meaning "victimized or hurt
by one's own scheme”.
The aforementioned excerpt
hopefully describes the fate
to befall president of Russia.
Nevertheless, unseen
talon sharp claws...
dig deep into mine
psyche soft underbelly
piercing bedrock of
core (puss) being
akin to butter knife
slicing thru peanut
butter and jelly
unable to preserve
an iota of calm
while stuck in said
emotional jarring state,
which eruption of cataclysmic
agitation analogous to a bomb
going off inside my head,
where a mishmash
of frenzied discombobulated
brainstorming angst doth glom,
whereat the "little boy"
inside this man
called for his mom,
who when this aging
"baby boomer" chap
just a kid and experienced
devastating, jarring,
and paralyzing tom
malt chew hiss in dom
mitt able inexplicable fear,
though NO obvious
danger threatened, NOR
warning signaled "BEWARE,"
nonetheless adrenaline
coursed from head
to toe as if clear
and present harm
lurked quite near,
inducing a host of
physiological fallout symptoms
darkly freighting this
sole son with nightmarish scare,
whereat no escape,
nor exit no matter
how fast a sprinting tear
found me running
mile a minute only
to end up nowhere,
except smackdab right
in the same place
in relation to despair,
which translates to mean...
yours truly could not
run and hide,
as quickly made clear
to me then, and now,
though at present
scores years older, the balm
courtesy of prescription
medication popped inside
mouth from palm
olive smoothed hands,
as if this teetotaler
betook himself prom
men aiding albeit
with tumblerful of liquor
getting feigning noggin all a jam
aware that nothing amiss,
would be evident,
sans lower gastrointestinal exam,
nonetheless diet
restricted to graham
crackers and broth
distilled from ham
hock, once again thwarting
vegetarian ambitions damn!
The Thief
He did so much to make me love him.
Wildflowers on a summer's day;
A lone carnation after dinner.
A kiss beneath the midnight moon.
Oh yes, he did so much;
Crime was stacked, on top of atrocity.
A walk in the gentle rain,
A stroll in the forest.
He worked so hard to make me love him.
His back was broad;
His arms were strong and brown.
His hair the color of chesnuts.
He did so much to make me love him.
His dark liquid eyes, would drink me in,
He made me feel every bit a woman.
And that I was beautiful in his sight.
He built a love,
Strong enough to last forever;
Then in one inexplicable moment
He was gone.
Gone like Pluto back to Hades;
Lost forever in the night.
A part of me went with him;
Lost forever in the dark.
He worked so hard to make me love him.
Then like a thief he went away,
It was like a cruel joke, that lasts forever.
I think I love him still.
I ran forever believing to be conscious to some extent
Once I realized, I was just being sentient!
Each cell of my body was tied to a very visible string,
It was just me who was blind enough to unsee
Each thread was being controlled by someone from the audience
Neither I knew them, nor they recognized me.
The race was just too long for me to complete by now
I wasn’t even halfway through when I realized
That something’s quite inexplicable
Not exquisite but unfathomable.
I noticed that the audience was classified by age
The experienced ones had their experience outdated
But still were holding most of the threads for coverage
The next gen was eager enough to learn but
Innocent enough to copy their wicked elders.
Amidst the thread holders there was a third group
They were of my generation
Not part of the race, it astounded me
They were not holding any thread, but were promoting the scissors
No runner ever listened to them, perhaps out of the regret of their wasted shoes.
I realized something
I was not at all conscious, I was barely even sentient
The race was not everything, something was parallel to it, perhaps better
Perhaps it was not for everybody, perhaps it was bitter.
At the end of the day all I could remember was that the hardest choices require the strongest wills!
of part one pertaining to my most recent poetic entry (Inexplicable Quirky Memory Unhinged clasp one) unintentionally got submitted twice, and rather than tamper with attempting to delete delicately, (and probably wreak greater havoc then desirable), this generic human male (meaning thy characteristics of body, mind and spirit) lumped within that general category designated as average.
this chap neither exalts in arrogance, haughtiness, orneriness...nor does emasculate, humiliate, lacerate...his being.
tis modesty i strive for despite the (all to quick to judge via initial virtual impression) predicated on my predilection to populate poems (and/or prose) with ponderous pedantic particular pun dit tree.
Whether rooted or buried,
Weathered truths amuse as charity
Towards the crude and the sharing,
In hopes of proving some clarity.
Yet it’s with this first link; a chain is born.
Forged and tempered by a speech,
Or foul and tampered with our reach,
It is still what is grown that comes away as fruit,
but not of the poisonous tree;
With Flourishing and budding flora,
hoping of whats to come we call fairly, sorta,
in pairings of tones from both of
the muttering and the daring,
From of all who wonder of these
latent seeds to be considered as
“of the unborn.”
But if by a birth that is to be controlled,
then a yield may become trodden,
Flattened and rotten, just as any fabrics lathered in hardships become tattered and spotted
until they are torn.
Left finally, truly forgotten
Then presumably silently and
Sworn to be compassionately
And delightfully alone.
Albeit, the same chance remains
without this touch of authority,
For be it where wonder may not dismiss,
And where judgement stops glaring,
an illusion of autonomy finds the disguise
Of a choice tending to a worth
Inherently unknown.
Where is it, i ask,
Where may two sides of the same coin
Argue upon their price?
Why may a currency ingrained with such a bickering inexplicable thought wage this necessity of war?
In the depth of night
While all is quiet
The mind starts to fade
Off into unexplainable shades
Conjuring images universally bound
A state of inexplicable bliss
twisting, shifting, contorting forms
Time itself ceases to exist
Where is this mysterious place?
A kind of subliminal trance
Which can be tapped into
Any given time you like
Is this the land of the youth?
The one the ancients refer to?
The same path the shaman walks?
Swirling colours and shimmering beings
In the light of day, it is possible
But lacks a quality that is not quantifiable
Though allusive as it appears
The difference is noticeable
Can we traverse the time continuum
Simply by inducing a trance?
Do our ancestors speak to us
In tongues unknown to our ears?
I believe this to be true
And have experienced it first hand
As I stomped my feet like a crazed bull
Turning into a trance dance
The tongue definitely foreign
But the emotions spoke clearly
This connection between realms
Maybe thin, but does exist