Long Interwoven Poems
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Poetry on trial?
I’m going to indict poetry, for infecting my soul
Does it serve any purpose, or has it lost control
This may seem quiet strange, perhaps unorthodox
Peruse this if you will, whilst it’s head layeth on the block
No need for a foundation, build it in the clouds
But it does require structure, interwoven by shrouds
Mocks me with Humpty Dumpty, as my life falls to bits
Sends me down a path, of bifurcation and twists.
Yes poetry is stealthy, it attacks from every side
Attempting to outflank you, then pounces in surprise
Soon levity returns, it wants to chill you out
Where did this come from, shaketh your head in doubt.
Bow before it in deference, or leap into the sky
Cut to pieces on razor wire, see the birds that flyeth by
Pit Romeo and Lothario, in a competition of charms
Find a new born baby, dead in its mother’s arms.
Send shivers down ones spine, Hairs stand on your neck
Deal out a winning hand, then rearrange the deck
Be a photon of light, amongst trillions on our sun,
Reminisce ole times, when life beheld such fun.
Be scarred by it’s violence, Drawn into the mystique,
Blown away by the punchline, The havoc it can wreak
Drown in melancholy, or bathe in its delight
Overcome tragic heartbreak, awestruck by it’s might.
Empathize with the poor, in their cornucopia of dirt,
Curse the wealthy no better, in their hubris of self-worth,
Surrounded by loved ones, on your terminal breath,
Then Cryo-frozen in a machine, trying to forgo death.
So yes I’ve tried poetry, it was given a fair trial
Now to pass sentence, and do so, with some style
I condemn it to life, with no chance of parole
Simultaneously I grant pardon, for it’s me who lost control.
By
David Kavanagh
To err is human,
to forgive, divine.
Humanity is made in errored God's image
is made in forgiving humanity
hanging on the cancerous family Tree
of survival consciousness
and dying sentience.
What human nature ambidextrously
and nondualistically
and paradoxically means
by becoming more divine
As we remake
reform
re-give us permission
to be sacred
and yet not perfectly empowered communicators,
verbally vulnerable
and non-verbally transparent
When we acknowledge
our ego identity suppresses eco-fertility
confined to our own mortally errored
less than fully divine soulful image
of omni-empowered sentience
and enlightened multigenerational consciousness.
A human soul is made in God's imagelessness
as God reconnects
religions
revives
and reforms my 0-Soul
in imperfectly individuated
humanely communitarian identity.
Organic beings are made
from sentient EarthMother's interwoven
co-empathic
primal relationships
Gaian God is pre-conscious
in anthropocentric images
of regenerative humane co-acclimation,
polycultural yang/yin
win/win
ethotically self-consciousness
and erotically other-sentient
Creolizing cultural realization
of historically democratizing
non-violently communicating
transforming transubstantiation
Returning humane communion error
into divine self-forgiveness
for egos made in Gaia's co-acclimating image
As Gaian win+win health empowerment
becomes remade
through rehumanizing
sentient EarthBodhisattva's
wealthiest 0-zen imagery.
His eyes were green but no one noticed
Even though he was the only green-eye in the room.
His hair was red, but so were all of ours
We are McCormicks so it makes sense right?
The thing we were all noticing was his beard
The base appeared to be popsicle sticks and globs of glue.
Is it hard? Someone asked. He nodded furiously.
Is it a contest? Another relative interjected.
His brother came in wearing a similar beard
But with Barbie and Ken dolls glued on it
Their heads going in different directions.
Weird and weirder I thought.
Until their mother came in.
She had the ultimate beard.
She had interwoven a skull
And put in blinking eyes.
Since it was not my family reunion
I kept my mouth shut
Especially as my girlfriend
Was irritated now
She thought she was going
to win with orange witch
beard with the hissing black cat.
Space the universal medium, in which everything grows
Where it comes from, is postulation, nobody really knows
Bursting with cosmic energy, has no interaction with light
A fabric interwoven with time, where stars shine so bright
One thing we can be sure of, within space we live our life
Which in turn compels me to deduce, the void came alive
I’m not saying it’s god, too big of a step, not ready to take
Yet I cannot stop musing, sometimes keep myself awake
Creation starts at the infinitesimal, tiny mysterious quarks
Which in turn make up neutrons, giving atoms their sparks
Clumping together to become molecules, gases and solids
Forming shapes in the ether, coalesced nebulae remodels
We’re made of stardust, supernova remnants, I do believe
Making us part of a cosmic balance, perhaps reality’s seeds
Our roots forged in space, allegedly made of nothing at all
An invisible garden is replenished, when ultimately we fall.
But enough of the science, we only scratch about the surface
This poem is about space, trying to explain its very purpose
Well I do have my own theory, about everything on the whole
I believe space is a living entity, holding portals to our souls
We where not given any choice, just simply born, it had to be
Part of an eternal extant life form, some call god or holy trinity
This universe has come to life, through sentience from sparks
And looking skyward I ponder, is it us, underpinning the quarks.
Musings on space Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
11/01/2021
One passing day come the end of March
just before or after I now can barely
remember as so far back was it
The clock's jumped forward or went
back to either summer or fall
Whilst sat in front of my old trusted
spinning Jenny after checking my
kaleidoscope of cotton tops were
affirmative and ready
Patiently threaded the eye of every
needle then took 1 final look at
the clock hanging upon the wall
As was I wanting to untangle and spin
a goldsmith's weave I was formally told
So deeply and intrinsically I detached
meditated and relax with each inhale
of breath
Then placed both of my hands and
faith upon the wheel transfixed
ever further by it's singing spin
As searching was I for any form
or sign of a God for me to believe
in or in did he exist
And after I do not or can recall
over how many hours it took
Whence upon I looked down
what lay before me
Was a patchwork quilt of technicolor
rainbow interwoven sky
Some colours the likes of which I
had never seen since or before nor
have the cotton for
So all I know to this day in regards to
the question does God exist
Is simply this
When you see something as divine
and spectacular as a rainbow
in all it's technicolor majesty and
ethereal glory in the sky
Knowing that it was created by
something far greater than the
realms and possibilities of man
And you choose have faith and believe
that entity to be called God
Who you can count on and lean on
and pray to help you make sense of
the true meaning of life
Then I for 1 hope and pray the pot of
gold you metaphorically seek at the
end of your own individual rainbow
Is God's everlasting grace and love
and the heaven you so seek as you
deservedly made the list
I was lost
And you found me
You walked out of my dreams
And into my life
And that made all the difference
In the world
As you entered my life
I was all alone in this cruel world
And you provided shelter
And comfort
I did not know what I wanted
And you gave me what I wanted
You gave me meaning
You gave me purpose
You gave me love
And understanding
peace and happiness
Joy, laughter and fun
You were endlessly fascinating
Could not keep my eyes off you
You were the most beautiful women
In the world to me
And you still are
So many years later
Like a fine bottle of wine
Gets better with age
And you gave me
Endless nights of wild love making
Which has gotten better
As well
And I fell under your spell
from the day I met you
I was lost
And you found me
And if you go first
I will be lost again
Can’t live without you
By my side
Thus is has always been
Between us
We are so entangled
So interwoven
And that is the way
It was meant to me
Tis an interesting thing to consider yet
the value of a quiet example set.
Like the crystal streams, or the mountain air –
consistent, constant, always there.
Blessing every soul who happens by.
Never asking who, never asking why.
Giving joy just by being who they simply are.
Giving light through the night like a brilliant star.
Giving hope to the crowd in the dark abyss.
Yes, it’s interesting to consider this.
For life has afforded me such a gift,
a path interwoven with those who lift.
A chance to observe and a chance to learn
what it means to care, what it means to turn
away from the world and it’s foolish pride.
Yes, the thought of this makes me look inside
and give thanks to God that I’m in the debt…
of those who a quiet example set.
The rustling of leaves interplays with the ocean breeze,
as traces of moonlight escape through blackout curtains hanging from steel rods.
Bolts of illumination highlight stacks of books caked in dust,
while a man, decrepit with age, sits on a worn auburn-coloured leather chair.
His balding hair is grey from years of turmoil.
Wrinkles lay heavy, nestled deep within his face,
exposing the fragility in his demeanor.
Placed before him: stark white paper and a singular obsidian pen.
Removing his wire-thin spectacles, he wipes them gingerly with his nightshirt
and returns them safely to perch on his sunken cheeks.
Ruminating words flood through his mind
as he picks up the pen with his slender fingers.
The grandfather clock approaches three in the morning to the left of him,
reminding him that time is not on his side.
Scribbling fragments of what he can remember on the paper,
his last will and testament begins to unfold—
final wishes interwoven with untold life stories.
Loneliness weighs heavy in his heart
as the wavering flames of his existence extinguish
with his concluding pen strokes.
Old melodies,
Old tunes,
Belting out from the radio,
They were my father’s favourite,
He danced to it with my mother,
He hummed to it whenever
he was busy with his tools,
Smoothening and
assembling pieces of wood,
They elicited a
heartwarming glow from his face,
They were the impetus for his pace,
Nostalgia everywhere,
I’m in a realm of my past days,
My budding days with my family,
They were bittersweet moments,
Days of meagre rations,
Days of sufficient portions,
Days of desert pangs,
Though we desired opulence,
We were happy in our little way,
Like a fabric,
We were interwoven,
Soldered and riveted.
March 21, 2022.
The other woman lives inside of you;
I can see her silhouette in your eyes.
Her tendons twist through yours, interwoven,
down through your fingertips, I see her there.
The other woman lives inside of you,
I can hear her hungry heart through your chest
Her whispers bleed like poison through your mind,
echoing in your voice, I hear her there.
The other woman lives inside of you,
I can feel her presence through your body.
Her figure snug beneath your satin skin,
radiating through you, I feel her there.
The other woman lives inside of you,
I can smell her cloying rose upon your skin
Her scent smothered in your tousled brown hair,
absorbed into your flesh, I smell her there.
The other woman lives inside of you,
I can taste her lust when I kiss your lips.
Her secretive tongue in your starving mouth,
That name stuck in your teeth, I taste her there.
The other woman lives inside of you,
and though you assure that she isn’t there,
could she too be capable of sensing
The haunted woman who lives beside you?