Long Ironic Poems
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As I conclude each day
and year
and life,
conclude that life with death
refers only to LeftBrain ego's Past toward Future
ionic-ironic languaged consciousness,
too often angry about life
and therefore fear-filled about an untimely
and clearly inappropriate
not to mention unfair,
death.
Earth's Time memory
is stored in natural-systemic DNA/RNA regenerative folding
and unfolding egoclocks,
sequence,
rhythmic function,
a recycling journey of time traveling identities,
memory strings transcending generations
by transposing across the eisegetical communications
of any one ego-identified entity
Learning to harmonize in
on
with
within
a too strident humanizing nature
trying to invite more resilient
humane kindness and justice
To gift EcoTribal nature with humane nature
as a blessing for Earth,
from Earth,
with Earth,
for Earth's Advent,
inclusive of all species
and all natural economies,
and all RNA/DNA cellular cultures
of universal co-arising intelligence.
When divine love
and win/win neurosystemic kindness say
"I have nothing but time with you"
fear and anger are also saying
"I regret not having enough time
for my own anthrocentric agenda
right now,
between past's neglected anger
and future-fear depression
anticipating further repression
of this integral body
authentic mind
moment."
EcoLove and Ego's Kindness
only speak with present-tense consciousness,
which is all remaining communication
when neither future nor past tensions
tyrannies
terrors
win/lose dominate preverbal anxiety
Post-traumatic tension
and trauma-informed intension
of ego's fear and anger experience
Anger about past leads toward further fear
about repeating
and repeating
ego's degenerative abuse
and neglect
in Earth healthy life future.
To dissipate fear,
we have evolved curious Adventure
to co-empathically embrace Anger's
non-violent communication
About not repeating a negative judgy,
too Left-brain dominant,
toxic nontrauma-informed past
mono-culturation
Perpetuating anthro-privilege
playing a Win-Lose political game
toward ego-centric political economies
disabling RightBrain ecological pilgrimage
to AdventTransition Ego Away
Toward further
LoseMind/LoseBody
cosmological
devolutionary
deadly conclusions
And not not cobinary
positive health
Win/Win revolutions.
The mind is a womb
Copulate it
Let the semen of reason
Part the legs of its cervix
And you will see
When moth struggles before its born
The power of its dreams for flight
Words are eggs, you know
Virginal eggs,
I saw him hatch them into bricks
Of ideas that he could carve
Like an Edna exhibit
All copulation must spontaneous
A true gentleman has that gift
Not to force his feelings
On his betrothed
He was also scholar, you know
A sort of poet
That prefer metaphors to the conflict
Of chisel and wood
He had such a mastery of the rhetoric
I mean he understood them better than us
For he did not only speak like them
But spoke their strategy better than them
I sometimes wondered how he knew himself
Apart.
Its sort of seemed ironic
That he did have the anger that Fanon composed
Unless wit is a subtle part of it
May be environment is such a part of it
The cool, I mean
We say that about Manchesterians
Roxborough,
If it could produce the soldier-scholar
Could not have produced just a little fire
Even for the cremation of his brother, Roy
Perhaps it was the mix blood ...
Busta said that his mother was Taino
I do not understand is who mixed them though
There is an overt statement of force to be made
A rape scrubbed from the memory
For how could one half of hm
Become so invisible ...
The mission I mean.
I must rule
More than wood, and more
Than water
For my destiny
Is more than what men may leech
So I am not exploited
I am killed for this robbery
And here I am left
A dead man on a throne
Here I am
Shrouded with self government
And staring into the empty eyes
Of children
So why do I love him then
Was it alone because my father
Fashioned my world for me
Gave me this icon
For proximity the barbarians
Who snatched my mother
Washing her white linen one day
From the sweet river
Do not take that thought to the bank
Where my children play
This man deserves his accolade
If only for taking blindness from my mind
If only for letting me know
The chain had never rattled their
And even in their own words
I could look at the world
And ask "why not?"
He gave me a ladder to my education
That was some gift,
Quite the best of all I am given
O it so beautiful to copulate the mind
Or hold hands through the annals
And see this Manley,
This little fountain of great ambition
Flowing at my lips.
Oddra was a little birdie who was locked in her gold guilt cage.
On the eve of her destruction she was too quick in throwing down her page.
Serendipity had led her to the most wonderful birdie carnival in town.
Little then, did any know, that soon would come WWE, Smack Down.
She spread her wings and danced and sang and flitted all about.
The she started out and shared a bit….OK…she shared a lot!
She was in her groove! Or At least that’s what she thought.
This is when the lines got crossed, causing the great confusion.
That escalated to pointing fingers blame and accusation of delusion.
Unfortunately, her listening was selective. So this is all she heard,
whispers, “What kind of bird is that, a loon, a coo-coo bird?”
“She looks a little parroty to me”. Writing on the wall read, “sitting duck”
Unwittingly she’d stepped on toes, as misconceptions flowed both ways.
She had no idea that some had known her from before, in better days.
She did not hear nor see them. Did not hear them rapping at her door.
The kept reaching out a hand to say hello. She appeared to just ignore.
Who’d be talking to her there? She’d never been there before.
She completely missed her half of her poor friend’s ironic one way conversation.
She shared again, totally unrelated, that fit in perfect context as brutal provocation.
After this, the demarcation line of friend and foe becomes a little blurry.
Each perceived the others actions as offensive resulting in actions of fury.
Hold a pen in front of you, from end to end, creates a line.
But hold looking down its barrel and it’s circular in design.
Both are true, and also both are lies. In the end they’re both the same.
Is an Oddra not an Oddra even with a different name?
Here’s my stamp, Divine Design; classic, tragedy and comedy. That was the only
mask.
Oddra, cursed the circled ones. The lines, drawn in the sand, doomed her as their
task.
The lines devised a brilliant plan: having placed some peas around a hole they’d
made in some ice,
“Apocapus”, as she’d been dubbed, “She has to pee sometime, When she comes up
to take a pea
we’ll kick her in the ice hole.”
There it is my friends. Oddra was Slammed dunked!!
This is just tale. I to this I will fully digress, I am a very Odd Duck!!!
There were those too, caught in the middle, undeserved bad luck!!
Form:
You were "blood", & you had nowhere else to go.
You were the brother of my love, how could we tell you no?
We welcomed you in our home, you and your "escorting" hoe.
He even got you a job, as you stated "I won't let you down, bro".
But no good deed goes unpunished, our sentence was not even deferred.
An Instant hell, we fell and we fell, dwelling in the stench of one little demons turd.
My love, he lost his job, because, well Josh, YOU know EXACTLY why.
You ruined the life we worked so extremely hard for...you-the epitome of a big 'ole lie!
Our things were disappearing, but you, you thought you were so very, very sly.
On a golden pond of crescent stars, you were floating on a free moon pie...
My dress, my shirt, our conditioner and for God's sake, my deodorant too?
Was there anything else you forgot to take? Perhaps you'd prefer we send it to you?
My shirt jumped from my drawer, grew lil' feet and placed them on the floor...
Ran down the hall, scooping up my deodorant and into your bag they soared...
Your kitten, the one left in our yard, because of you, she'd almost died.
When we saw her deteriorating condition, it was enough to make one cry.
Poor little thing, you told us she would catch her own food outside.
One more being left in your wake, drowning in the storms from your tide...
Nine hundred dollars in fines, that's how much we paid to claim your kitten as our own.
Or the animal control would take her out of the misery of the only life she had ever known.
For a concerned neighbor, assuming we were responsible, was kind enough to phone,
and they were going to take her, & put her to sleep before she was ever even grown.
But I could not let that happen, even as now, we have not even paid our rent.
My love, because of you, he has no income, and we may all end up residing in a tent.
To think, one little brother could be responsible for these rapid, earth-shattering events,
leaving us a tumbling down alone, and for the next ruining, off you went!
This down-slope of destruction, on and on, has yet to slow for us...
disturbing hatred now swirls inside my belly as this journey has been so rough...
Now YOU have the nerve to question to US, while attempting unsuccessful to act so tough,
The ironic cherrybomb, our sweet icing on the cake, you ask, "HAVEN’T YOU DONE ENOUGH?"
Cultural and Social Terms
Idol: In Persian poetry, often refers to the beloved, particularly one who is non-Muslim. The term carries complex connotations of forbidden desire and spiritual challenge.
Veil: Refers both to the physical head covering and the metaphysical veil between the material and spiritual worlds in Sufi thought.
Fate's Wheel: The wheel of fortune or destiny (charkh-e falak), a common motif in Persian literature representing the unpredictable nature of fate.
Character Names
Giti: A Persian name meaning "world" or "universe," suggesting the beloved encompasses all existence for the lover.
Saeed: An Arabic name meaning "happy" or "blessed," ironic given the character's suffering in love.
Poetic Devices and Concepts
Ghazal tradition: Though this is a masnavi, it draws heavily from the ghazal (lyric poem) tradition of Persian literature, with its emphasis on unrequited love and spiritual longing.
Tavern: In Sufi poetry, the tavern represents the place of spiritual gathering and divine intoxication, not literal alcohol consumption.
Cup and Wine: The cup represents the heart or soul, while wine represents divine love or spiritual knowledge.
Dawn: Often symbolizes spiritual awakening, hope, or the appearance of the beloved.
Mystical Concepts
Fana: The Sufi concept of self-annihilation or dissolution of the ego in divine love, reflected in the lovers' ultimate union where individual identity dissolves.
Ishq: Divine or passionate love that transcends ordinary human affection, central to Sufi thought and Persian poetry.
Longing (Hijr): The pain of separation from the beloved, considered a necessary stage in spiritual development.
Historical Context
Persian Literary Tradition: This work draws from the rich tradition of Persian mystical poetry, including works by Rumi, Hafez, Saadi, and others who used love poetry as a vehicle for spiritual expression.
Courtly Love: The formal, ritualized expression of love that characterized medieval Persian court culture, with its emphasis on patience, suffering, and devotion.
____________________________________
Note: Many terms in Persian mystical poetry carry multiple layers of meaning - literal, romantic, and spiritual - simultaneously. This ambiguity is intentional and central to the tradition's power and enduring appeal.
The Lie
I am an insect waiting to be squashed!
I stare hard at the ground
as if fascinated, enthralled by it
while, above, eyes of cold-cobalt
wait to gouge and burrow out
any self-belief that might still remain.
“WELL?”
It always starts with that unsettling word.
Ironic as ‘well’ it certainly is not.
“COME ON!! I haven’t got all day!”
The next sharpened remark; his checkmate,
and the denouement usual swiftly follows.
I try to speak but my weighted words
require a wheelbarrow to carry them out.
I am snagged, on the jag, of repeated criticism
which over the years has shrunken me;
diluting my beleaguered confidence.
Most of my childhood years I understood
and welcomed the fluctuations of emotion
however the grammar and punctuation
of every day skirmishes of family life:
the questions marks, the exclamations, the..... ellipses
were rules, restrictions that became impossible to follow.
So here, once again, stands my father’s temper
attempting to confront nay dominate me.
At this point, if my body had consented,
I would have galloped over the nearest horizon
however all my moving parts had gathered together,
loitering, on a corner, spreading rumours and gossip
that had rendered me rigid and immobile!
My only escape, my bolt for freedom, lies… in the lie.
Yes, an untruth, that had lain in the top shelf
of my mind for many troubled days,
fermenting in its own insidious juices.
Now sliding treacherously from the corner of my mouth,
this worded assassin, homes ruthlessly on its target
…my firework of a father.
Suddenly his face tightens, a thought frightens,
his rigid body a jolt of electricity,
as disbelief snakes its way into his thinking.
His anger reddens, his reasoning darkens
and his fists…..boulder.
But the lie has lain down beside him
fabricating disappointment, bewilderment, distrust
deep into the windows of his eyes.. then...much deeper.
Gradually I turn the key in the ignition of my pride
carefully closing my hands, knitting my fingers,
creating a statement of both prayer and defiance.
Later a thought dangles in a corner of my mind,
a consideration, a contemplation of how far the lie
will layer down into my father’s subconscious
before he understands that the lie is a…
Trojan horse carrying … the truth!
Ian Souter
ronic – isn’t it…?
The very essentials we need to survive
Are the same essentials that endanger and destroy us!
The very same people we love
Are the same loved ones we hurt or hurt us –
The very same life occurrences and events
That cause us to smile and laugh
Are the same occurrences and events that cause tears and humiliation!
Ironic – isn’t t…?
The same life we cherish and deem of priceless worth
And we hold fast to never foresee its end
Is the same life we mis-care for and waste
Toss aside and risk and gamble away
As if its value were less than a penny worth!
Ironic – isn’t it….?
The same sunlight that produces energy and cheerfulness
Is the same sunlight that burns us with its UV Rays!
The same smile that deems us cheerful and beautifully radiant
Is the same smile that label us “fools” to our predators!
The same hand that extends to help and rescue
Is the same hand we use to strike and knock each other down.
The same eyes we use to captivate beauty all around us,
Ae the same eyes that covet our neighbor’s possessions!
Ironic – isn’t it…?
A friend can be your worst enemy
While one’s enemy could have resulted to be your closest friend.
A friend lies to another – even for mercy’s sake
But, an enemy holds NO reservations or presumptions!
If an enemy tells NOT the truth
At the very least he shares his opinion and his thoughts
With no presumptions or reserves!
Ironic – isn’t it…?
The very dust we are drawn from
is the same dust we return upon death.
Ashes to ashes – dust to dust
The conclusive summary of a man’s journey
Is that a man’s life is but a mere reflection – a flash –
Of how his life PRIMARILY began!
“From birth to earth
From womb to tomb”
(More than just a West Side Slogan)
Connoting that life and death are bound like brothers
When often perceived as oppositional rival enemies.
Life calls for a celebration
While death yearns for acceptance
Not rejection!
Ironic isn’t it…?
Death’s announcement bares no good news!
We run from death and fight against it
Even when we know we stand NO CHANCE to defeat it
But only to surrender ourselves to it as we stand POWERLESS against it,
For death cannot be cheated nor tricked
Bribed nor negotiated
Death bears nothing to offer but death itself:
An infinite eternal flat-line with no further response
On any end!
You may say that I’m crazy,
Deny I’m a Christian,
But I say our lives are just what we have chosen,
Though my logic seems hazy
And message seems Faustian,
If stuck, you should think if you want to be frozen!
Do you have to be right then,
With whom lies the verdict,
The world falls apart then will you be the scapegoat?
Does God handicap free men,
Did devil give edict,
Are you only one who is fearing a cut throat?
Now on first glance my premise
Might seem pretty silly,
Though it's also simple, 'Life's Always My Choosing!’
I can visualize grimace,
(Reception is chilly),
“A meteor hits my house! How's that me losing?”
You deny that you took risk
And odds went against you?
Were you just unlucky? Your choice made it happen!
My conclusion may seem brisk
But how can you argue
For all that I’ve done is make logic my weapon!
You should note I’m not saying
My model's not crude! Still
A pragmatist's sense is it could be the answer.
Goals accomplished by praying?
Most futures are landfill!
But trust in God’s Grace and feel light as a dancer.
Yes, a good life is easy,
Just don’t wait for rescue
For fate favors sailor who repairs his rigging!
When the trade winds are breezy
Help friends to continue,
Don’t settle for sorrow when choice includes jigging!
Long Tooth
May 11, 2017
Poet’s Notes:
In this poem I intend "Goals accomplished by praying?" to be ironic and “Most futures are landfill” to be an exhortation to action on your part as opposed to depending on the Almighty to fix all of your life’s difficulties. Christ died on the cross to prove His love and to reconcile us to God. That should be enough, though He may, in fact, give us more, we should (and can) handle most things with the talents, the gifts He has already given. It may not be true that we literally “choose” everything that life throws at us, but what I am in fact convinced is true is that life works better for those who do take personal responsibility for whatever happens to them, even if they are not responsible in fact.
We should always be careful what we pray for, I think! God might give it to you! When you acknowledge God's Grace though, it frees you from "false guilt" which cripples many people and strengthens your bond to your heavenly Father (who absolves you of real guilt as you live in faith in Him!)
My heart is broken.
I am a miserable, lost soul swimming in a world of darkness;
trying to find a piece of myself that has been torn away from me.
I am blinded by emotions.
Unable to regain control of the irrational fantasy world I have built for myself in order to escape a harsh, ironic, and bitter -sweet reality that the rest of you call life.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
I am a shell that was once truly alive.
I have been left empty.
Taken out like trash on a Thursday night.
I was once a person, but I have been destroyed by this cruel thing that is called life.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
I have fallen victim to the cruelty of the human race.
I am ashamed by myself, but more so by others.
The truth is much too vicious and vulgar to accept it as what it really is;
A part of this thing you call life.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
It is said that ignorance is bliss.
That explains why the rest of you walk around thinking you are happy.
You are blind to the severity of the truth that surrounds you.
I am not the only one who had created a fantasy world for myself.
The rest of you are just too caught up in your worlds to even realize that another world exists;
The real world.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
Your “God” is nothing more than an illusion;
Created by the twisted minds that came before us as an arrogant joke.
Used for the soul purpose of making you feel better about yourselves and to repent for your so-called “sins”.
Just another part of this thing you call life.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
I’d rather walk around for the rest of my life thinking I know the truth,
when in all actuality there is no such thing.
It is but a figment of my imagination.
A part of my fantasy world.
And this thing that I call truth is extremely different than the thing that you assume is the truth
in this thing you call life.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
There is a fine line between genius and insanity.
I am unable to figure out which one of these applies to me.
Maybe both; maybe neither.
As I said before, ignorance is bliss; and you all couldn’t be happier.
I’d rather die on my feet than live life on my knees.
Form:
Self quarantined misanthrope pitched into purgatory wham!
Ably cane resign eternal damnation (mine)
courtesy devil specially engraved telegram
prestidigitation found me vanishing shazam,
without a trace I disappeared in thin air voila
Earthly travails atop horns of dilemma ram
into me buttucks pitching yours truly ma'am
hoisted by my own petard sheepishly wool
ewe (red dully) bull heave human bug eyed
recalcitrant specimen (me) nonetheless lamb
basted skewered (think shish kabob) log jam
succinctly described helplessness to preserve
ultimately repurposed into green eggs and ham
harmless recluse no more valuable than flotsam.
Grant simple wish to withdraw into hermitage
coronavirus (COVID-19) just desserts we wage
us *****sapiens on trial across web world stage
severely misappropriating Earthly resources rage
understandable Gaia she pointedly reminds adage
inescapable comeuppance whereby our civilization
written off as atrocious, hellacious, malicious, page
poisonous primates essentially, dismally, yes clearly
bollixed, failed, leveraged, & tortured planet I gauge
hell in a handbasket ironic tragicomic fate wise sage
of yesteryear did prognosticate now we scurry hither
and yon, to and fro Smashing Pumpkins immortalize
metaphor likened each one of us as rat locked in cage
bajillion eons ago once upon a time our noble savage
ancestors levels playing field now new bacteriophage
relentlessly pits twenty first century civilization doles
microscopic organism (battling unseen enemy) voyage
around sun fraught tooth and nail powder milk biscuits
a Prairie Home Companion ruse buzzfeeding courage
for shy people (yours truly) communicating message,
albeit urgent to revamp paradigm to live social - nsync
with eco friendly coda allowing, enabling, & providing
liberty and justice for all living (colorful) things hostage
at mercy of self proclaimed superior beasts above average
with intelligence, yet rendering oblate spheroid garbage.
No major inconvenience incapacitates rather humdrum
bard (rarely bored), I wanna pitch headlong into scrum
no need to scream and shout, cuz I speak softly to mum
(Mother Earth) reassuring, she inevitably bests hoodlum
standing arrogant, boastful, deceitful comfortably numb
oblivious when day of reckoning delivers offal maelstrom.