Long Intricacies Poems
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I love to visit art museums…to see how the artist has found a way to capture what they see onto a canvas…my favorites are Van Gogh and Monet.
But when I can’t get to an art museum…not one tear do I shed….no, when I can’t get to an art museum…I look out my window instead.
For when I look out my window…nature’s art is what I see…I love the vibrant colors she uses to paint her birds, her flowers…her trees.
Most days the art outside my window makes me gasp…and often makes me sigh as I marvel at the intricacies of her brushstrokes…the way she paints the clouds…the rainbow colors of her sky.
And it never ceases to amaze me as I stare open-mouthed with my hands against my window pane…at how elegantly she paints the sunshine…and how delicately she paints the rain.
I once lamented having poor eyesight…being born with eyes that blur everything I view….eyes that do not see the world the way that other people do…
But without my glasses…looking out my window at the beginning of the day…I see an impression of the sunrise as painted by Monet.
And with my glasses off in the evening….at my window after turning off my light when I look up at the sky…I see Van Gogh’s starry night.
(Now I celebrate my blurry vision….because, in my heart, I know
It’s the reason I love the sunrises painted by Monet and the starry nights of Van Gogh.)
So when I can’t visit an art museum…I never grumble…never grouse…I simply make it a point to visit every window in my house.
Where I am blessed with a masterpiece painted by nature inside every window frame…
where thanks to the artistry of nature..no two paintings will ever be the same.
In English classes my skull would be reelin' with a myriad of perplexities,
Strugglin' to cope with English Composition with its multitudinous complexities!
I could never comprehend (and never will) the mysteries of verbs and pronouns,
Or danglin' participles, prepositions, conjunctions and irregular nouns!
"Your future will be mighty bleak", my patient teachers hinted indirectly,
"If you don't learn the intricacies of the English lingo now and correctly!"
The long-sufferin' teachers considered me a dunce and their hopeless bane!
I wanted to be a pilot! How was this folderol gonna help me fly a plane?
Incomprehensible to me were past, present and future perfect tenses!
Invariably, I bungled those terms in trying to compose any of my sentences!
Fiddle faddle! Why, I mused from my naïve and youthful perspective,
Would I ever have any use for a comparative or superlative adjective?
My favorite classes were glee club, art and gymn, each in which I did excel,
But adverb clauses, proper and predicate nouns to my mind just didn't gel!
The use of consonants, vowels and indefinite articles left my head a-spinnin',
I couldn't understand the use of predicates or proper titles from the beginnin'!
Thankfully, after the vicissitudes of high school and bewildering frustration
I somehow managed to accumulate enough English credits for graduation!
Well, I reckon I ain't never gonna be no good at parsin' a sentence no how!
(Wouldn't my teachers be proud of that line - or would me they disavow!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
*AUDIO, plus a, Video of A Clarification by YouTube.
"Let us shine and not burn," by Elle Casey
A Clarification
Conceived onsets by one's subjective state,
Clueless inceptions nebulously grow,
A mindless blind mute moves, rousing its fate,
Godsend occasion leaves the dark to glow.
Sparks the light of life mimic frames of minds,
Intricacies of distinctions arcane,
Emotions indulge past regret unwinds,
Scattered, detached, night candle burns the stain.
Shatter separateness as divisive,
Conceived borders we being inherits,
Emphases realized as decisive,
Everyone shares their respective merits.
Douse not our embers, but keep strong our flame,
Warm the blaze to a glow from whence we came.
2022 November 21
*5thPlace*
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE
~~Brian Strand: 2022 November 25
RZ & HMS.
The Glistening of Formica Memories
Stepping on wet lateral stones,
at the Source of the Bicuspid,
three timeless tree-girls,
dressed in Colorado feathers,
urged on to fly,
as far as the harbinger’s voice,
reverberating from the source
and onward to eternity’s margins,
assume the mad ascendancies
to the highest peak, the farthest city;
their three steeped voices slicing
the formica memories
into shards with bitter fingers.
The glistening call,
of that farthest city,
wallows in the mirage
of seeming imaginations,
of fluid want with foreshadowing
remnants of lateral intricacies,
of standard practices
in the unseen interludes;
why is it when the wind blows
from the source we can listen,
but not hear?
Has memory succumbed
to the vacuum of time and warp?
On which wetted lateral stones
does source-wind lay out
the patterned template?
But now the feathers amerce
the wind’s seasoned harbingers,
plying the stars to find their elàn
amidst the mirages,
urged on to fly, ascending lofty peaks,
beckoned by eternity’s margins,
three arbored fems,
imagination becoming flesh,
stars and stones merging,
as timeless as formica;
their fleshly lateral stones
finding the Source of the Bicuspid.
GARAGE IS GOLDEN
THE INTRICACIES HAVE NOT YET BEEN PROVEN
YOU CAN NEVER PREDICT ITS BEHAVIOUR IN THE EVENING
THUGS ARE NAUTHY, THEY FIGHT, CLAMOUR ON FRIVOLOUS ISSUES
THE GARRAGE IS VOLATILE
IT CAN EXPLODE! WHEN IT SEES A LITTLE FIRE.
BARBARIANS… SO SAY THE ELITE
WHO DARE THE LION IN ITS DEN
SCORPION IS WICKED, ITS VENOM BITE IS POISONOUS
BUT THERE IS NO DAY THEY DON’T COME IN TO DROP OR PICK THEIR RELATIVES, FRIENDS AND CO
WHENEVER YOU SEE ONE JUST KILL IT
IM SURE YOU ARE NOT CALLING YOUR NEIGHBOUR… HELP!!!
WHAT MY EYE SEES, MY MIND CAN’T CONCEAL
THERE IS A GOLD MINE IN THE DIRT
ARE YOU WISE? GO THERE AND MINE
TO EVERY RICHES THERE IS A HIDDEN QUALITY
BUT A LITTLE PEACE I FOUND AND I FLY IN TO THE AIR
IT BLEW ME GOOD EVEN WHEN I DWELL IN THE DIRT
FAR FROM IT, I CAN’T BEAR IT ALL
THE CREATOR IS GREAT IN ME, THAT’S WHY I CAN DO IT ALL
THE GRACE IS ALL I SEEK FROM ABOVE
EVEN WHEN I KNOW IM FROM THE FILTH
JUST LEAVE IT
THE DUNG YOU SEE, AND HOLD YOUR BREATH
IS STILL THE MANURE THAT HELPS GROW THE CROPS?
Simon says: Thirteen’s my lucky number.
Thirteen years ago, I took dad’s money
and bargained with Time to make my name known.
Fate nudged its elbow into my circuit.
Penske luck and talent helped carry me.
I have had the best mentors in the world
who helped me master the intricacies
of maneuvering oval victories.
Last Sunday, no one wanted that wreath more,
the milk had my name on it from the start.
My best chance to kiss the bricks in Indy,
gotta get in rhythm, driving success.
Thirteen laps to go; green lights on again,
Alex and I changed the lead five more times.
Two tenths of a second, first 'cross the line;
Simon Pagenaud wins the Five Hundred.
If thirteen more (or less) inches had been on the track?
Would that have doubled my win time (half-a-second) or
would Alexander Rossi have taken the title?
No, Fate and Time got it right - drivers of victory.
May 28, 2019
Julia Ward's contest: Driver of Victory
Simon Pagenaud (Padj' en no)
Nothing has a reason to begin with
It is a party of its own with no clothes on
Formulaic intricacies grow wild in mushroom clarity
Causality set in motion by music sounds out loud
Its grasp far reaching, weightless, astounding
On a line of invisibility destiny stretches in a yawn
Violins have no strings to be attached to any song
Held fast in times illusion
Dancing is forbidden in the dark
Freedom is an extension, not exactly hair
Randomly receding in all directions
Time is unwinding on tomorrows blink
Strobe-lights are an afterthought of spinning on
History sinking fast with every drink
Coming to festivities with one shoe missing is wrong
The black one or was it a sneaker
Let me think
Music laughs at circumstances quite like this
But changes tempo as it wishes
Surrounds circles so circular and round
Directs them to their proper corners square
Orgasmic at the edges of forgetfulness in fun and laughter
Circles are not square
Not yet!
The evening is young and has no children
Light the cigarette with caution
Don't forget the curtains
For no other reason than attention to be friendly
Tip the waitress when the party ends
Logic dictates that we leave before we came
That way we can go and never come again
A FATHER, HIS CHILDREN AND BASEBALL
A father remembers years ago taking his children to the ballpark on a bright and sunny day.
They sat together in the stands and watched grown men at play.
They’d been sitting for a few innings when he heard his daughter exclaim
“Daddy, this is boring...what do you like about this game?”
It seemed at their young age his children didn’t share his baseball adoration
and he wasn’t sure they were ready for a lengthy explanation.
As they basked in the sunshine eating hot dogs with ketchup and mustard on their buns
He could have explained the rules of the game, about strikes and balls and runs.
He could have taken that opportunity surrounded by his children and his wife
to explain how baseball, if they let it, can teach them about life.
He could have pointed out although it is individual player’s names they scream
baseball teaches people to work together as a team.
That baseball teaches humility for no matter how hard you work, or what path you choose
Sometimes you’re going to win...sometimes you’re going to lose.
That baseball teaches perseverance, determination, tenacity and grit
That you shouldn’t worry when you strike out for you’ll get another chance to hit.
That you must endure the slumps in life and the havoc they may wreak
if you’re also to enjoy the jubilance when you’re on a winning streak.
He wanted to say no matter how many bases they run...no matter where they roam
that life will circle back and they’ll always be safe at home.
All these thoughts went through his mind as they sat in the park that day
Wondering what to tell his children as they watched grown men at play.
“What do I like about baseball,” he said smiling for suddenly he knew
“What I like best about baseball”...is sharing it with you.
His children are all grown now and as far as baseball...that’s a shame
because he never got to explain to them the intricacies of the game.
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY
Oh My Father in Heaven,
Lord and Master of all You survey,
My Suzerain,
Lord of my life and my death,
Hear my prayer.
I beseech Thee, look down upon Thy People with forgiveness.
Know that we still turn to Thee daily in prayer.
Not only do we ask for Thy help and Thy blessings Oh My Father.
There are still those of us who honor Thee.
We still look up to Thee in awe and wonder at Thine omnipotence.
It was Thy hand which created all things both seen and unseen.
Our world and all things in it which make life possible was first born in the Mighty Mind of God;
And He said, "Let it be thus.", and it was so.
The ocean in it's vast magnificence, the mountains in all their splendor, the valleys in all their beauty, the forests in all their wonder, all bespeak the unfathomable might, gentle power and love of The Living God.
I look upon the universe, how each planet is so delicately balanced in it's solar system and I am amazed by it's intricacies, vastness, beauty and mystery.
It dizzys me and I am humbled before Thee.
All creation screams the existence of an all powerful Being who loves us.
Yet there are those who deny this and become insensate at the mere mention of Thy Holy Name.
Know, Oh Father that there are still those of us who know this and speak this with passion and love.
Reach out to us now Oh Father, God Of All Things, and save us and protect our rights and freedom to worship Thee openly.
Let those who rise up against Thee receive the full force of Thy wrath.
Let them see what happens to those who defy The Almighty One who commands the winds and the seas and hung the lights in the sky.
Strike down Thy enemies and the enemies of Thy People with Thy right hand as with Thy left hand Thou dost shield Thy People from all harm.
Let the ways of the wicked fall back upon them and let the innocent no longer suffer the afflictions of cruel masters and rulers who deal death and destruction.
Let Thy wings shelter those who are Thine and let us forever dwell in Thy shadow.
Amen
Weightless, we lift up like a bubble,
softly, smoothly, so seamlessly
that motion could go unnoticed
with closed eyes.
Wide awake,
grass blades fade
into one asymmetrical green block.
Evergreen tree tops sway as a forest wave
and we wave like celebrities
at the intricacies below.
Pale yellow hay
aligns these pristine green patches
as soundless tractors gather summer's last harvests.
A gray pavement maze
of smoke puffing industrial buildings
and clustered suburbs texture a separate scene
like game board houses, roofs in muted tones.
Silent vehicles seem as child's toys,
gliding like our imaginations
and the easy lift of hot air's gauge
as we drift higher,
hovering at the skyline's level
to reach distant cities with our awestruck eyes.
The Space Needle is spotted afresh against azure air
and Lake Washington is seen in its entirety,
teeny boats assail like baby ducks
welcoming these guests as a postcard homebound.
Mountains' shadow crevices revel
an artist's best rendition, depth unspeakable.
Like giants we seem,
overlooking a make believe world
that we could overtake.
Wicker basket thigh high at the opening,
one assertive lean could be one's demise.
How fragile are our mighty lives.
We drift downward as seamlessly
and controlled as the flaming whoosh
between this manmade nylon fabric,
woven like a rainbow's reach for gold,
that holds our heedlessly trusting beings
as magically as the land of Oz.
Now a speck so small,
landing amongst the level open field,
we yield our hearts to the creator of it all.
11-13-2020
What Have You Kicked Off On Your Bucket List Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke