Long Irretrievably Poems
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Panegyric praising phantasmagoric, albeit...
unseen prophets providing perspicuity...,
Who commune with yours truly
within state of mind between
sleep and wakefulness
methinks disembodied spirits
infiltrate mine consciousness
while suspended within trance.
Meditation invokes light hypnosis
gently beckoning me to surrender self
fearlessness disappears relinquishing
clutched grip upon ethereal essence
without substance, I wonder
how emotions, ideas, longings...
can weigh so oppressively
as if such elusive thought processes
(however they become manifest
spontaneously crowdsourcing then...
just as quickly re: blink of eye
irretrievably lost in space (mind)
farther than outer limits of twilight zone
realizing futility to conjure them back
synonymous when this (hymn) mortal
male i.e. contemplative,
intuitive, ruminative...
nonetheless unable to recall revelatory
insight...,and/or when steeped deeply
within sleep (ah...such dynamic,
magnificent, vivid...dreams) more so
pronounced since relying to function
almost half dozen medications
(to mitigate predisposition wrought
courtesy of anxiety,
ocd, panic attacks..),
yet upon opening
(even without disruption)
access to such excellent
personal profundity...slightly biased
denied, analogous to
steel door shutting tight
with nary an iota remembered
to self interpret what subconscious
exposure means, a motherlode
rich with material
to write poetry or prose
tis quite bothersome
this sudden disappearance
evocations vanishes without a trace
aware no intense concentration
will jog abundant cerebral activity
forever out of reach
Argh...such evocative manifestations
serve as private cable channel
obvious drawback reruns
cannot be rebroadcast
aware (of course) nobody boot me
agog with exhilaration,
fascination, galvanization...
to plumb depths into world
I will never fathom
further than 20,000
leagues under the sea.
What's new with me...Matthew?
Well for starters Nationwide
road service emergency
one man cutting crew
with battery charger in tow knew
exactly why no juice (think electricity),
his hunch found trunk light kept lit,
an innocent looking (to me or you)
lady's handbag accouterment,
fifty shades of blue
stuck out just enough did cue
automotive technician, who
witnessed yours truly flapping
imaginary wings (think) cuckoo
unwittingly, irretrievably, and
admirably lost me scant sanity true
"fake" news I trumpet as a gentile Jew...
Just in time for men
rhythmically singing, melodiously
acapella harmonizing huzzah olé
in white coats besotted and
bespattered with vegetable puree
to take me away
ho-ho hee-hee ha-haaa
hip...hip... hooray
to the funny farm yea,
where life beautiful every day
and skies fifty shades of gray...
Thus, the reason I type pell mell
(think hunt and peck),
an inner madness to quell,
while hermetically locked in padded cell
shut airtight like... a citadel
which soundproof environment hell
lava hot improvement versus dwell
ling with volcanic spouse, and well
equipped to nurture solitude, ah... nobody,
but me and Matty mattel
both of us undergoing re education
initiated courtesy crack atop
noggin tinnitus subsequently
experiencing ringing like liberty bell
afterwards undergoing gender reassignment
clearly yours truly exuded effeminate spell
not recognizing only muttering to himself
fancifully dolled up
as debutante mademoiselle,
and appearing sitting pretty I willingly tell.
Twas glorious occasion regarding
miracles of modern medicine to sing
namely routine engineered
sex change, bitty bing
bitty bang minus one
minor glitch really... nothing
but doggone veteran (aery) surgeon
pulled off bone huff eyed gracefully amazing
stunt at my expense unwittingly injecting
canine female hormonal secretions,
hence I find myself barking, ing
and strong desire burning
to frequent fire hydrants.
There is only love
when we leave the other
behind – our world of others:
Commitments deemed by
self so paramount,
we become perpetually
addicted to treadmills;
inducted wrong-tracks
adhering as a second
skin –
The rain can
fall but the plain will never
give back, if the permeable
depths irretrievably
No benefit by making
of one's self a non
irrigable desert –
having wandered too far and
stored up too little –
the well used sayings
about burning bridges
and being a spendthrift,
they apply to the heart and
soul as well--
Love often...but wisely....
Pretty like the crystalline canyon rocks -
Fair like a deer wandering in the morn' -
With the Great Spirit as a faithful witness
A baby girl named Red Feather was born
And for her onyx eyes and ruddy cheeks
An angel was sent with kisses to adorn.
Her misery began with John Martin -
A white trader of uncouth demeanor
Who took one day a Navajo woman
As payment for whiskey and gunpowder
And soon his bride realized an inheritance
But in so doing died young in labor.
Red Feather lived - lived with a cruel father
Who cursed her and of her did not boast -
Withholding not his friends who laughed at her
And was ignored by passersby the most -
Irretrievably lost between two worlds
That scorned red highlights and native clothes
Until one day when grief overwhelmed her -
She ran away - against the blinding tears -
Where else but to the village of her mother
But discovered that they too made jeers
At the sight of her and there enslaved her
And instead of love - realized her worst fears.
But solace found Red Feather at moments
When she'd steal away to Spirit Canyon
To gaze upon the weathered petroglyphs.
Silence touched her heart every now and then
As she'd sit among the lonely rifts
And consider the Earth with the heavens.
There among them was one where an artist
Told of the wish of an ancient warrior
To jump the cliff and join the gentle spirits
That captured Red Feather's awe in particular
And since the life ahead held not her interest
She soon desired him and her mother
So it happened during one nice spring day:
The wildflowers breezed as she took the path -
Eagles circled above her at midday
And Red Feather stood on the edge with wrath -
Embraced the sky and Sun and leapt away -
Seeking what the next world might have.
Since that time many a wayward Navajo
And traveler alike claim to have seen
Red Feather come to them - white with glow -
And swear wholly it was not of a dream
But that she lives - she lives as a ghost
Wandering along the cliffs and beneath.
So should you come to Navajo Country
Look sharp - Red Feather's spirit takes flight.
She may run silently with a clan of coyotes
Or dance in the shadows of your firelight.
She may be the breeze that blows softly
Or the silver mist that rises at night.
What becomes of a lost glory?
When it vanishes, does it take hope along?
Does it explode....
Like dynamite and smell like smoke?
Does it sink irretrievably deep
Into the depths of a stygian abyss?
Or does it float away hopelessly
Out of sight and reach
Like an untethered balloon?
Does the heat of the sun burn it
Into scattered ash like Icarus' wings?
Does it dangle dangerously on the precipice
Of a cliff about to tumble over like timber?
Is it easy or hard to recapture?
Is it like searching and finding
A tiny pebble that has been thrown so far?
STANDARD NO 120,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines
Sponsored by Brian Strand(Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 09/30/2018
Before they silence my voice
Under jackboots and bone crushing dogs
I must set fort before dusk
As I am shielded
By his gore
And crafted like Daniel
In the lions den
And Jonah in the whales gut
I must scurry to ventilate
With my traducers
At the gate
Because they engage nocturnally
I shall not look for a black goat
At the witching hour
I discern they loathe me
And my kind
They hiss, gnash their canine
When they hear my strange name
They curse the day
I was sculptured
They question why
My palms, sole are snow
While my soul case nocturnal?
Their revered face, soul case is snow, innocuous
But entrails insidious
As a welders fork
Forty friend's, fiends, foe and counting
Looking for a straw
In hay sack
Sneaking, feigning, meandering;
They huff, puff,
Sniffle, shuffle and snizzle,
Insidiously, frantically, scamper
For a Judas
To bell the cat, dog
How do you bell a cat, dog,
With nine lives?
They mob, sop, smother you
Like ants swam honey
Then,
Forget that like amoeba
Your outer layer
Is a cyst
Which immune your entrails
From vultures insidious fangs
Alas,
Spider's web, bobby traps, mines litter around
But,
A tortoise never gets
Enmeshed in a spider's web,
Big Ben never irretrievably hushed
Or a monkey ambushed
Trailing a snakes shadow
This jaunt is not for the faint-hearted
I have journeyed forty days, nights
In the lions den
In my arsenal is locusts and wild honey
My traducers eyes are crossed;
They are hard at hearing
Their necks are stiff,
They love gold, silver
More than good name
I shall ventilate
What their fore fathers
Did to prophets before me;
Chastising them with whips, scorpion
And because they denied me honor,
I must shake my dust off
Their door posts.
My heart breaks so readily nowadays--
at hearing of the sudden death of a friend
or witnessing the slow death of another.
My heart is wrenched to see dementia
in my lovely neighbor with her lovely
English accent, and the 'Oh my dears',
knowing her sparkling voice might
soon be stilled as she moves slowly
and irretrievably back into childhood....
I want to ask God the why, the why not
of this part of His Grand Design--but
I know there will be no answer--though
maybe I already have a partial answer:
for when I was young and selfish
(and perhaps even callous),
my heart did not see,
my heart did not hear,
my heart knew neither longing nor joy--
it was as though my heart were dead,
unfeeling, unresponsive... and fearful,
oh, so very fearful...
Now my heart lives and breathes and
feels pain and loss and joy: oh, the joy!
The joy that comes on seeing a friend,
on hearing my wife call out to me, or
a sonata I have loved for sixty years.
The joy of feeling the sun's heat whilst
walking under the deepest blue sky and
breathing in cool air, breathing in life....
Is that what God wanted all along,
that I unclothe my heart and bear it
naked to the world, in hope and love?
Cuz while ya steel got
moxie, don't nix chance if only a dot
before death finds
flesh rotting alot.
A self-actualized fringe benefit
as I racked up
orbitz round sun -
with increased measured,
(albeit neglected) ragged, and
shot thru tattered (turn shroud) -
regarding chronological yardage
brought to my dimming wattage -
sputtering third eye blind, sans
hindsight surveying extensive
emotionally frenzied groveling with
a lifetime penitential wreckage,
whence urgent critical (update)
foisted upon formerly entrenched
hermetically sealed voyage -
sequestered self wrought fallout,
viz long stretches of
time irretrievably gone with the wind
found me averse toward
commingling with village -
peopled within sin king
precincts of Lake Woebegone
joyus kneaded livingsocial
natives, now visa
vis (nee this past
and present atheist)
discovered the healing power
of powder milk biscuits,
when accommodated within Norwegian
bachelor farmer vicarage),
qua pained obligation now
imposed kickstarted mandate
to pay dying wage
clearly written along,
the sub weighted psyche walls
(over time) easily read
across my wrinkled visage,
where former cumulative
years of existence
pitched yours truly
figuratively teetering upon
precipice of abyss gave vantage
written in telltale creases
countenance spelling umbrage,
against me - asper tonnage
schlepping psychological Matthew
Scott Harris "baggage,"
wrought from decades
worth of uncultivated tillage
cuz n'er did I gather rosebuds...
during prime mortal teenage
stretch, thus present
day agonizing suffrage
yawning chasm miserably houses
bleak (Dickensian) testimony,
sans recovered anorexic
(NO...NOT... NEVER
bulimic), but feebly
endured desultory stage
punctuated quasi (moat)
towed riddled rattle trap ship
of state into deadly scrimmage
defies propped up
moxie succombing unrelenting
weathering, unforgiving savage
nasty, brutal and short sabotage,
wherein futile - short
changed growh opportunities
forfeited developmental stage
opportunities introverted
vehemence doth rage.
I recall writing checks in my spidery crawl.
The TV then was a humming spaceship
with glowing innards that deep-scanned
all who glued their flickering, bug-eyed minds to it;
it abducted whole families at a time.
That same television
materialized microwaves as heavy as lead ingots
replacing bread bins
while ushering in decades of TV dinners.
“Radio Shack’ and “Block Busters’ were thriving
The short brutal war between Betamax and VHS
was long over.
Cars had not yet learned to speak.
Many men thought that learning to type
would be a waste of their valuable time.
We had to go out to get stuff.
Fish in fish tanks
were considered adult entertainment.
The long married kept their sex life
hid like a ‘sixteen millimeter’ movie
projected onto the back of their brains.
Camera film had to be sent away
to be often irretrievably lost.
The food pyramid was thought to be
the right way up – we were already fat-heads.
We trusted the nightly news.
Then the Net captured us,
we found we had many hidden talents,
some even discovered how to wriggle their ears
and both at the same time!
Have you ever had an ‘I’ve wasted my whole life’ moment
If you have, or if you can close your eyes and imagine one…
You don’t necessarily have to be 'that old,’ though
you may sob harder at the age of dwindling returns
… The pain is soul-searing: you’ve poured your heart
into a child, a close relative, a relationship, a marriage
and now you’ve been left irretrievably high and dry,
so you have failed… miserably...
There’s no one can ‘coach you’ through waves of despair
stomach-churning nausea, ready to devour you
No ‘pep talk magic’ to revive your spirits, to restore your equilibrium
‘Pep talks’ are for performers; you are not acting, your pain is real
But there is this: It's All Good. For you.
~ Consider the Source.