Long Inundated Poems
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Inundated Not Liberated
AT 15 Is your mind closed for the season-
Or are you just "OUT TO LUNCH"
IF YOU BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU'VE
HEARD you HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO LEARN..
Then a child you shall remain.
AT 30 Is your mind closed for the season-
Or are you just " taking a vacation from reality"?
IF YOU BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU'VE
HEARD you HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO LEARN..
What's the point in your living on.
At 45 Is your mind closed for the season-
Or are you just "BRAIN DEAD"
If you believe everything you've been
contrived to know, then you
HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO LEARN-
what are you living for?
.
If you understanding nothing at 60
concluding no solutions
And still wait for another nation
to save you,
While they rob
and replace you
waste you
debase you.
We are doomed..
There is "No fool like an old fool"
Truer words were never said-
Better off to die young.
Than go to your grave,
as a closed minded slave.
IMMERSED
so fascinating
I recognise
a participant
existence
engaged
&critically
alert
& bewitched
I love
hearing
the torrents
of sound
this sensorium
throbbing
in an array
of art
inundated
by light
so
alluringly
mystical
experienced
in this way,
formal terms
sensation
& consciousness
fused
freestanding
yet
cascading
merged
in a detonation
of colour
saturated
images
of
surreal
dimension
both
spiritual both
&sensual drama
visual
ebbs &flows
to inaugurate
sacrosanct
rituals
in
liberation
of the eye
fantasy
in
experience in
echo
under
immersive
happenings
dissolved into
impressions
Defying Evil
The moment an urge to surrender emerged
Inundated with fear by the impalpable devil
One must assuage and strengthen your will
To awaken the spirit profoundly submerged
3:54 p.m.
September 26, 2025
Aboard the Vision of the Seas
Cruising towards Boston, Massachusetts
Year after year
Torrential rains, fall
Winds rip apart humanities dreams
We are flooded and ask why?
The angels cry
For all of us
We are inundated with their tears
As they weep, we who still breathe, live on in daily fear
Mothers, fathers, sons and daughters
Taken before their time
Some see fit to hasten their journeys
They know not an angels tears
How many of us have been defeated
By the depth of sadness, life seems cheated
So blinded we are inside our heads
The tears drowning us until we dead
Drowning our hopes and feeding our fears
What are we to do?
Look beyond the angel tears
See that heaven removes all fears
The tormented on earth, as they rise above
Knowing that paradise is theirs, clouds only below
Finally they feel the smiles within
Wishing we too, in contentment could know
The happiness that rises from inside the soul
Note: My meager attempt to offer someone comfort here
Abominable barrage bombards
fortified barracks show
warring subsequently, incandescently,
and brilliantly doth glow
biden time, this
garden variety Joe Schmoe
hunkers down deep
within arched bunker poe
wet tickly donning
pence sieve stance against row
battery weathering incessant assault
invariably waiting for Godot,
albeit devout atheist doubting Thomas
suffers major blow
wavering, vacillating, undulating...
ominous foreboding,
viz more'n one circling crow
decries status ranking sincerely
truly posthumous hero
reconnaissance delivers...
yup absolute zero
looming dark shadow
futile against inconsolable sorrow
anonymous bookish deadened
erstwhile febrile fellow
good as gone, cuz yours truly...
fresh outta ammo
resigned killed in action
another unmarked grave
housing lovely bones
courtesy contemplative bro
charred body foretells, know,
and promises not one daisy will grow
despite fervent obeisance
soul fully do I futilely bellow
worse fate than death
i.e. gulag archipelago
feebly decrying, lamenting,
lamely pleading against
bleak unfair in apropos
sentence never granted furlough
never to witness celestial amarillo
beatific, cathartic, fantastic...,
nor chase gold pot end of rainbow
all pleasant dreams, I must forego
seek neither fame nor glory hobo
content whiling away (Billy me)
idolized time solitary Homo
sapien re: me tortured afterlife
enslaved forever guilty "fake" pharaoh
moans... suddenly joyous tears flow
aforementioned psychedelic mashup
figment of imagination - psycho
illogical gallimaufry, hallucinatory,
and illusory expo
attempt lame analogy how I wallow,
when setting sail
to launch crafted poe
whim, whereby invisible
battle scars attest
successful amphibious ambition
inundated battling lightspeed tempo
competing ideas exhaust
thus, I seek comfort of
soft cloud like pillow!
Life’s Drifter
Written: by Tom Wright
January 2015
For too long, I drifted, on the sea of time,
Presuming, in youth, that it had no end;
But, I was immature, and not bullet-proof,
With no infinite quantity of days to spend;
Within, I lacked impetus, to propel my craft,
For youth had been influencing my thinking;
As my life continued taking on more water,
I feared that my drifting craft was sinking.
Then out of the blue my great deluge came,
Leaving me inundated and without an answer;
I perceived my craft would surely capsize,
I was now an unsuspecting victim of cancer.
As I feverishly bailed, adding additional pitch,
I found a life preserver just for the asking.
All that was required, was that it I’d receive,
Since that day, in God’s light, I’ve been basking.
My sins – both of commission and omission
do testify against me day and night.
But saving souls of sinners was His mission;
now sinners walk by faith and not by sight.
Lord, how am I to keep your gospel fresh?
Repeated hearings make it seem less real,
for I am inundated by the flesh
and all the vain distractions that appeal.
I strive to grasp this truth mysterious:
“God demonstrates his love for us in this –
While we were lost in sin, Christ died for us”
Though I had just betrayed him with a kiss.
New birth and life eternal are his gifts
As from the dead this hope my spirit lifts.
Written in 2016
I’ve been eating Dannon coffee yogurt
Oh, so many years,
So learning it’s been discontinued
Didn’t quite bring tears…
But a wave of disappointment
Since it’s hard to fathom why
It’s no longer waiting on the shelves
For customers to buy.
I Googled it and found it was
A “marketing decision,”
A reason which will surely meet
With clucks of pure derision.
A number* seeking feedback
Linked me to a friendly voice
Who took down my information
On my lack of coffee choice.
Maybe if they’re inundated
With a thousand calls like mine,
Those in charge will reconsider
Pulling coffee from their line.
*877-326-6668
Jack Frost, Jack Frost, how we feel your icy touch.
The earth lies under your freezing clutch.
You are a sneaking thief coming to steal the russet sun,
And mercilessly take away all our outdoor fun.
Fluffy snowflakes on feathery wings unfurled,
Fall gently and silently over the sleeping world.
First they come slow and then in torrential showers fast,
As if the snowing will never stop, but forever last.
Busy streets and pavements are now lying bare.
People stay indoors. To come out, they hardly dare.
Rodents have gone into hibernation in their ditch.
It seems life altogether has gone out of pitch.
Birds sit with drooping wings in their woody nests.
Within eyeshot, no trace of any roaming beasts.
From nowhere comes the song of a single bird.
On the slopes, one cannot sight the grazing herd.
Inch by inch, foot by foot, snowflakes fall,
Surrounding us on all sides like an oppressive wall.
Tawny roof tops are crusted with flakes of milky snow,
That the sun with golden beams alone can thaw.
From the cobalt sapphire sky’s misty veil,
Fall down the snowflakes like summer hail.
Unpigmented piles get heaped on the ground,
And the Earth lies inundated in a sea of milk churned.
From the seamless sea of ice, strewn with scattered gems,
Aureate, flaxen sunbeams make glittering diadems.
Thus Nature creates variegated scenes, delighting the heart,
Superseding every piece in a museum of man-made art!
One night, the silver fox, came to me and beckoned me to follow. Red salamander, by his side, advised me to go quickly; lest we lose the moonlight. Within the nearby wood, an ancient tree we found, a hollowed oak with mossy pants opened its soul to me and poured its wisdom upon me. Inundated, I found myself again. Fox is clever but, never speaks. I have learned that he is merely a messenger but, Salamander’s, a patient adviser. Now, I listen to nature; hollow oak, is my guide to the roots of what I need.
Nature’s call has so
many guises, each reveals
Its’ secrets of life.