Long Intersected Poems
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ANGEL IN THE MORNING
While washing the dishes this morning, I looked at the sky
through the kitchen window for the awesome, magnificent
view of the morning blue sky with streaks of white clouds.
With sun shining bright, the sky was like a canvas with blue
background with spectacular long thin horizontal strokes
of white with the exception of the one at my far right.
Frozen and stunned, I was mesmerized with the streaks
of white clouds of long thin horizontal stroke, like open
arms, intersected by a longer and thicker vertical one.
The vertical one had a circle shape on top, like a face
and it was wider at the end, like somebody wearing a
long skirt and I became more and more bewildered.
The more I looked; it was like an Angel watching me, so
I gazed at my left and most of the strokes of white clouds
disappeared or reshaped like a majestic glacier by the sea.
I glanced at my right; wherein there was no reshaping.
After a while, the face started getting blurry and then the
rest of it, while I was still staring at it in awe, dumbfounded!
Did that happen? Or did I just imagine it? What did I see?
12/14/21 Sweet Lady Jane
Sexual Employee
It clocked in at 7:02 am
No orifice in sight
Placed the time card in a slot
Made its way to a metallic table
Blank white paper on the top
#2 lead pencil, covered yellow, appeared
One hour later the employee began to draw
At the center of the paper starting at point “A”
A thin line was drawn from there to point “B’ on the page
Horizontal, naturally
Below that, one hour later, another line was formed
Starting at point “C”
It too was a thin line drawn and continued on to point “D”
Horizontally, of course (the two lines never intersected)
Vertical lines could only be drawn on Fridays
Diagonals were not permitted
They were perverse and went against the laws of nature
The employee had no discernible features worth mentioning
But, it does come to work each day though
With two buttons built or installed into its side
It rolled over to the clock at 4:02 pm and punched out
Placed the time card in a designated slot and left
Went home with the push buttons still installed
One red. One green. Always the same
We never questioned
It is not our job
There was a moment
when the afternoon seemed to pause
as if it was holding its breath,
suspended briefly between
the letting go and the drawing in.
Thoughts came to a rest
and the wind which had before
played in the folds of a curtain,
was suddenly still.
If it had remained like this
for a while longer, I could have
glimpsed what was hiding there
in that stillness, heard what was
weaved through the strands
of silence which had intersected
my existence, there in that moment,
before time drew its breath again
and I fell back into myself,
back into movement
and noise. Now, I am
not even sure if it matters.
Poem as depicted here.
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CIRCUMLOCUTION was inspired by the poem, Him & Her Intersection, by Brian Bilston. In the 2015 Great British Write Off, he won the poetry prize for this poem disguised in a Venn diagram. My interpretation of the intersection poem scans differently to his as the intersected part is to be read in a loop, as suggested by the title.
The Venn diagram poem is an interesting intersecting visual poem written inside a two-circle Venn diagram.
It could be written on any subject where a contrasting viewpoint is key to a successful intersection poem. The idea is for the two outer sections (the opposing views) to be read independently taking the intersection into account, for example, xxxxxxxx X / X xxxxxx (the lines don’t have to be of an equal length.) This intersected piece ‘X’ should flow in a logical statement from top to bottom—I aimed for imagistic prose.
It’s a lesson I learned in grade school that still echoes in my mind…
A lesson on the sadness and cruelty of prejudice…
and the joys of being compassionate and kind…
A large new student entered our close-knit world
and as was our cruel and childish rule of thumb…
immediately we had a name for him…we called him Big and Dumb.
I imagine we were a little intimidated and afraid of this big new kid in school…
Why is it fear of someone different sometimes causes us to be cruel?
But once I got to know him…once I took the time to see
except for his enormous size…he was a lot like me!
Just like me he had his fears…his anxieties…his insecurities…
and just like me he liked his burgers with lots of ketchup and Swiss cheese.
He was smart and funny…we could always make each other laugh…
I helped him with English and he helped me with Math.
I was hesitant at first to to approach someone so different and unplanned…
but found acceptance and friendship easy once I took the time to understand.
It’s a lesson, if we’re lucky, we learn as children:
How our world is such a beautiful place to be…
and how what makes it beautiful…is it’s diversity.
If we’re blessed we learn from our childhood mistakes
and leave behind us once and for all…
those times we acted out of fear and ignorance…
back when our minds were much to small.
For it is these lessons learned in childhood
that contribute to the adults we will become…
helping us grow up big and smart…
instead of big and dumb.
It was a lesson I’m glad I learned early…much earlier than expected…
and I’ll always be grateful for the time when our two lives intersected.
I heard a black bird’s song today
He balanced high on a wire
His dark coat purple in reflection
His voice high and sweet
above the ocean’s roar and
the hum of traffic on the beachside highway
So pleasant, melodic,
not unlike a tune to be stolen by the Mockingbird
He called out so clear and soft
Was it a springtime love song?
A call for a mate only spoken at the end of winter?
Or had I never heard the delicate song
of a creature whose like surround me
as I walk through the grass each day?
Hello, he cried
So far above me on that wire
in a moment we shared together
as our lives intersected
for just that instant
in a departing winter
and an awaking spring.
Remember throwing a stone into a lake when you were a child…watching that stone soar…seeing the splash and discovering how the ripples returned back to the shore.
Remember if you tossed more than one stone at the same time…(as you might have expected)…the pattern became jumbled as the ripples intersected.
Every bomb that’s dropped…every bullet fired…every person killed in time of war…is a stone tossed upon the water…sending ripples back to shore.
In war, however, with a multitude of bombs, bullets and people killed at the same time…(as you might expect)…tragedies become jumbled as their ripples intersect.
When the ripples of one death wash over us they immediately flood our heart…filling us with sorrow at a world tearing itself apart.
But when we hear of another death…and another…and another…when the numbers become so great….the intersecting ripples become hard to discriminate.
So many people die every day in war…so many with each blink…so many ripples washing over us…we don’t have to me to think…
To think about each individual death…how life itself is rare…
to think about how personal each death is to somebody…somewhere.
To think how a war has no true winners…no lasting benefits…
To think how each person’s death has its own love story attached to it.
I imagine this is just one of the many inevitable tragedies of war…
whether or not it’s ripples ever reach our shore…
How families and friends are left in sorrow…angry…disenchanted…
How with every death created in war…another seed of hate is planted.
In the land of spring where hope was born
it's gift - release of winter's hold.
The sun of summer lost its luster
following some how., days take a low bow,
streaked trials all but lost.
Now the days shorter than a lit match' dream.
a moment caught in light tho' weak, just a ray.
Dark hooded and clothed in a fallen snow,
Christmas always wished it just that way.
Hand sore from barbed wire's wretched greeting,
on a winter's walk I wandered on.
Pink glow of youth' robust cheek, sure of foot, still searching
time's meaning of So long.
My father's stride now recognized,
though stronger than in memory's glow..
intersected my own low stuttered step
printed before me in light gathering snow.
Will landscape of winter's white recall my feet,
as I walk the trail where foot steps converge again.
Years on, still hold my children's hands..
awed in perfect artistry of falling weight and wind.
Tell you once in awhile, while lookin' away..
just at a whisper when you're near,
thanks for bein' here..
Christmas always wished it just that way.
We are living in the middle, you and I,
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings.
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause;
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue ...
Timothy Levi Hicks
Love’s Path
Love's Path
Rules bind us from infancy
If instincts are true we thrive, each new lesson works
for success, we forget practices that thwart happiness.
Passages and reaching for that metaphoric sky
Romance, a chrysalis that cradles heightened mystery- our endurance of drudge before we fly
We are living in the middle, you and I
There is much we live, reliant upon chance happenings- what if we had never met? Our paths, never intersected or,
if they did, we missed our chance to connect.
The perfect moment when the sky was right to usher in romance,
the laws of attraction that shaped the joy of love in magic renderings, in heightened awareness of simple things.
Brighter colors, heavenly perfumes
the harmony and peace of mutual understandings.
between butterfly beginnings - ethereal endings
Time came for making promises --getting used to things,
expected or not—learning the art of forgiving
Consenting to cherish common objectives—
was it our love succeeded because
we overlooked each others’ flaws, or unmet expectations
Two souls astounded to be of the same accord
or was a momentary whim the cause?
Despite Natural Law, I'm persuaded to pause
Too quickly the paragraphs of time we reád
Hand in hand we strolled the pages of our years
weathered all the seasons with forgiving hearts
Nothing could measure the small eternity we made ourselves-
we endured life with every sinew- refused to imagine
a life devoid of one another
Now matter how circumstance may try spin you
if possible, dear, let chrysalis continue
In the silences of twilight, I merge with the colors of a tempestuous dream,
Spirits whistling through galaxies of shattered darkness,
I speak with the passion of falling stars, a symphony of souls,
In a cascade of golden whispers, in the heart of the crimson night.
I have been the guide of shadows, the medium for lost hearts,
Trying to gather the essence of stars fallen on the shores of time,
Between duets of moon rays and peach blossoms at full sunset,
I gathered forgotten dreams, ravaged by blue waves.
Every evening, leaving the jade roses to keep watch,
I embraced the artists of the night, those who paint scarlet skies,
In a secret tale, where Mars dances every two years,
Under the plum sky, torn by transparent passion, like an endless longing.
In the quiet of enchanted houses, I felt secret vibrations,
People called by purple sunsets, transformed into nights of silence,
In a corner of golden-rust, the family reunited in secret carols,
Our destinies intersected, like playful rays of the sun.
Through the orchard of golden flowers, I colored my canvases with dreams,
Each brushstroke, a frenzy of sweet shades,
Until I fell asleep in the arms of shadows, captured by a black-and-white slumber,
And from that sleep, the colors returned, like an unwavering promise.
Slowly, houses with tumultuous lives emerged, and cars with butterfly wings,
Airplanes like fragrant moments, arriving at their destination,
Just as my prediction, like a true psychic, had announced,
For nature washes its cheeks in humble green, sparkling with unbounded joy.
Like a sleepy summer dreamer, I dreamed of endless beauties,
So grateful for this world full of colors,
Which time has sifted with golden majesty,
I transformed into quicksilver, in love with the glittering spectrum of life.