Long Infirmary Poems
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Here lies a silver silence, hopelessly violent
embroidered in the corners of my lips,
Steady and stern standing on a steel of stillness,
Then, in a sudden sweep the soil begins its shift,
Why do you keep scaring off the sanctity of gravity?
The very pavement to my soles,
Why do the sounds of our thoughts enhance our virility?
Cause chaotic curiosities,
Why, in the mists of your eyes I feel the undiscovered dreams,
The opaque definition of what a silhouette of the sunsets mean
while a cluster of clouds swim amongst its rays,
Cruel conscience creeping through unopened spaces,
Revealing reasons why must these walls stand,
When they have begun to feel like the simple sands
softly dancing to the swirling sequence of the sea.
Show me the depths of the ocean,
Let the grimness of my heart wade through the gills of all your monsters,
Like a jellyfish in a pile of predators.
Pierce , pin , push or perhaps pull,
Have all and more verbs take their motions onto me,
kindly construct a hidden infirmary for the velocity of what may progress,
Set an anchor through my ribs and sail away to the divine infinite firmament.
Seven days in the green-browed mountains.
Time retreated to the horizon.
Sun casually took to the foreground.
Moon sighed into its gloaming.
Seven days inhaling green-
wildflower sashaying into the veins
No more migraines-no chain of coughing cars.
No barbed wire news or plastic drama.
A bumblebee made a path for my eyes.
Seven days bathing in green-
Like a bronzed-faced kitten, I napped beside a stream.
Didn't see God but felt him watching over me.
Seven days fasting in green-
A spirit half-cleansed in the sheen of brevity.
Tomorrow, I return to the grey-eyed misery
Into the padded infirmary of puppets, madmen and kings.
In her grand fantasy’s territory
Freely emerges beauteous Twinkle Fairy
Opening great provisions' granary ---
Gifts* for her wondrous birthday flurry
As a good girl, giving home no worry.
Twinkle Fairy grants her food-dowry:
Sweet delights flavored with strawberry
Midst pies whipped by apple and cheery
There’s also veggie meat, indeed savory
Likewise nutritious chips of zero calorie.
Basking under her dream’s victory
She’s awakened, hearing Mom’s “Hurry!”
In her room, vibrant and glittery
Are loved ones, singing; oh, how merry
With their presents wrapped by prayer’s glory.
Thanking God, she winks at Twinkle Fairy:
That's Mom along her virtuous story
Miracle-filled; sometimes, a mystery
Strengthening her faith, despite fatal injury
This blessed feast in the infirmary.
*Romans 11:29 For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.
November 1, 2019
Honorable Mention, "STRAND no 650 any theme any form" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 1/19/2020.
The moment I am out of the box
Foxes and hyenas surround me
Needy greedy aggressive seekers
Those who even a second before
Lay hidden in hibernation
In the tightly closed boxes of steel
On the verge of elimination
Thanks to the cultural policing
Now pouncing for dark and dense satisfaction
In a paleolithic plunder
Quenching reddening hunger
In the black and brown forest
Of unchained unrest
In pursuance of almost unconquerable
And incorruptible pleasure principle
Of animal happiness
Night and day
Sense buds making hay
Out of the aesthetic box
Wreaking senseless havoc
Our rose and rhododendrons in decay
Our seagulls
In infirmary and hospitals
Out of the box
The Spanish bull and ox
Flummox our poems
Into the imagery of
Ingrained instancy
For our tumultuous ascendancy
On the pinnacle
Of crimson churning
And the giant jingling
Tapering off to
The momentary Nirvana
Of the
Intense distraction
That arose out of the box
A moment later
In an inertia again
Of the restless vein
For the overwhelming rain
Into deep brain
Teeming with craving lanes and bye lanes
In the dim light delight
Out of box
The red fox
No mailbox
No riverine knocks
The box is very important
For our civilization
Into the flowers
Of sunny sublimation
_______________________________________________
18/01/2017
For the contest, How Long Can A Poetry Go,
Sponsor, Jamie Pan
Note: As the metaphors in the poem is too obvious to need explanation, no writer’s
Statement is added here, as asked for by the sponsor except saying that it deals with the psychological process of the dominance of pleasure principles at the cost of reality principles as elucidated by Sigmund Freud.
elderly and Helen Mirren
It is hard work to be old; many people prey on us, the elderly
My wife is better at telling people to fob off than I am
When people tell me a sob story, I tend to believe
What they, why else will they tell
My wife and I are very different; she likes to speak to
people in a cafe or a waiting room at the doctor's, yes, we
Do see many doctors, with age comes the infirmary
I sit there and try not to look at the clock
She comes from an upper-class family without money
I am from a modest background with a tendency not to spend
money, but safe for a day, it might rain, and we will be
caught in the downpour without an umbrella
Yes, in public, we hold hands, we get the condescending
glances, oh, how sweet they are
I feel annoyed like Helen Mirren, wishing that people would
off and leave us in peace
Taking a lovely morning walk along the Ness
while spending a few days at Inverness
this walk has many grand features on its way
get the winter clothing on, no need to fashion dress
We pass firstly 3 statutes - faith, hope, and charity
at a small garden near the church at Ness bank
then further along a memorial for Elizabeth Caveth
a WW1 nurse who saved lives then, many gave thanks
Many of nature's highlights may be seen nearby
having some trees with a fountain at the side
along with red squirrels, otters, herons, and bats
on this Ness island such delights on your ride
The river glides past the island on either side
it can be dangerous as its fast flows so deep
this is in middle between a couple of suspension bridges
these were built in 1828 still standing strong to keep
Walking over onto the island you'll find 'Nessie'
the wooden version that's motionless and still
then there's a small amphitheater so grand
where in the 50s summer dancing was the drill
Coming back to the city on the west bank
passing the RNI* chapel and Eden Court theatre
which is a lovely mixture of old and new
St Andrews Cathedral then highlights the highest rank
In coming back along to the city look up high
your eyes feast on the castle along the skyline
well, a lovely way to spend a January morning
strolling along the River Ness, a joy so very fine
(*Royal Northern Infirmary (hospital).
(I have written this piece having spent a few days in the city of Inverness last month, the unofficial capital of the Scottish Highlands.)
Heartthrob in damsel drag
Belief of human bile
Completely instilling cascading dregs of mechanical flesh, bones and spit
64th avenue
And coiling deft doom
Winged balls of bulging blood and speckled steel
Merry wails and flutters of moths unsealed
Fitted upon falling kneel
And reckoned release of rotten roadkill-
Rats and babes and brats
Congealed candy and sickeningly sweet brandy
And hailed light of epiphany to choke, swallow and spit
And strangle without a hand nor handle but grit
Of groil and crevices of menaces heralding honed notes
And a lone liver in fathered infirmary
Black backed in breachers
Potted a bulge to indulge the fickle maggots of dissociation
Emulsification and hearty sniff of
Whitened slice and slithers of snow
Dregs to drag and hone and throw
Up upon bedded saline laden road
Of rows and rows and pounds
That drag rotten flesh afresh from the hound
Sutured from spine to fluttered wing
The hide
Plucked apart from rat to brat
And collared collier stepped afresh with new hide and throw
And stubborn stubbled child with a new mind in tow
5//5//2025
Listening to the Blues
Slouched almost supine
Next to special person,
Her hand clasped in mine:
Mississippi picking,
Bottle neck used as a slide
St James Infirmary playing,
End of a long Blues ride.
Now a mouth harp break
Exhilaratingly raw,
Finger picking guitar
Carrying the music before.
House rent music that
Spread the world around.
Borrowed, refined, adapted
Into a multitude of sounds.
Music to relax to that
Seeps slowly, and with style,
Down into the soul
Satisfying all the while.
Voices of gravel,
Voices that moan and wail
But voices of power to tell
Some of life's varied tales.
At times when I'm stressed,
Or at times of despair,
At times of great joy
The Blues are always there.
I first listened as a child,
A period so long gone,
But still my favored listen
As my life speeds along.
Now almost in my dotage,
Slouched almost supine,
Still listening to the Blues with
A very special friend of mine.
Witness to every notable trip
highlighting life and death travelogue strip
I can recount incidents bringing heart-rip
surpassing accidents of fatal engine oil drip
yet expressing to God thankfulness* midst blissful serenity-grip!
Once I served as an ambulance
to the infirmary I lost my balance
propelling mute patients utter remarkable parlance
calling the attention of road monitors’ nonchalance
despite concealing valance!
Unforgettable was my wedding ceremony route
as an entourage automobile, devoid of destination-doubt
maneuvering here and there midst distressed bride’s pout
just to get out from grievous traffic jam’s clout…
How we made it to the altar date was a miracle without a doubt!
Now as a vintage vehicle, I’m nostalgic of my great transport adventure:
new-born babies intensified my passenger seat’s caring gesture
restless special kids afflicted my steering wheel with toy torture
policemen grabbed me for hot pursuits’ venture…
All these showcase my significant roles of functionality-posture!
*1Thessalonians 5:18 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
July 23, 2019
Honorable Mention, "STRAND CHOICE 4,any form,any theme" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 1/24/2020.
Agonizing Christmas days in the infirmary
There I was, vanquishing ailment-inflicted misery
Beseeching the Lord for miraculous victory*
While soberly pondering Emmanuel’s birth story
…marvelously wondrous in human history.
On his intensive care unit’s bed, ailing
Dad groaned in pain, health grievously failing
Afflicted since affected, I hated my own wailing
While beholding my dear human fortress grueling
…struggling, for the Saviour’s mercy, calling.
Yuletide 2018 scenes remained vivid in my heart
Now being relived as caroling does start
Still I’m stricken by gripping sorrow-dart
While hospital memories I could not outsmart
…linger, hearing Dad’s voice singing his baritone part.
Today, I pray for God’s gracious cheers so bright
In celebrating Christmas with bouncing-up might
Gathering not to mourn, but to enjoy reunion delight
While thanking the Lord for His goodness-height
…commemorating Dad’s first death anniversary aright.
*1Corinthians 15:57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
December 17, 2019
2nd place, "Second Chance" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux; judged on 2/17/2020.