Long Kicking Poems
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The dawn spoke her name like a silken secret
carried carefree by the tradewinds of lust and larceny
imported from the traderoutes of paradise and pandemonium,
sequined with violet venom she venerates the virtue of volition
her love is unlawful, unequalled in unrest, righteous in conquest,
tender in temptation, torrid your surrender, her beauty a will bender,
Queen of Empire Passion, warrior unknown to submission
her kingdom was not inherited, glory and throne ungifted,
the treasures, stables and territories, battles and crown all won,
rich in intellect, endowed with rare resources, affluent in original passion
bejeweled in natural beauty, she bewitches beasts and men alike,
Poets pen her preciously as Woman Total, Priests implore her pardon,
male servants pander to her anger and ardor, satisfaction she commands,
Sisterhood the symbol and soul of her mission,
I was just a man, a wanderer wading through her reign,
from the unsubdued North I came, a curious traveler with ancient name,
my tribe unfamiliar, underestimated, a Chieftain of steady pulse,
tresspassing towards her roots my aim was direct knowledge of her
woman of renown cunning and learning, woman of exotic ability,
seeking teaching and romance, though I would not be her Subject or victim,
this she knew, this she abhorred, a challenge to her dominance,
I agreed to meet her alone in the open morning of war,
in an abeyounce of gliding fire she comes riding out of the sun
regalia of black roses against red tears flying above her shoulder,
our horses begin a battle tromp, breaths heavy with moist mania
she has leopards in her eyes
poinsettias and death's palms painted on thighs,
scalps of exlovers and enemies slung on sadle
we acknowledge one another with ritual yell
I exclaim, Warrior Poetess, she screams Poet Warrior!
dismounting with mutual vigor our combat erupts
cutting my cheek with her blade's lip
kicking me in the ribs
I clinch her collared throat
and heel trip us to the ground
she snarls, I growl,
a glimpse of rescue in eachother's eyes -
J.A.B.
The freedom of
illusion
——
Light slivers to
nothing,
looking back
for comfort,
fearful and knowing,
eyes bending
I’m compelled to move,
yet,
With knowledge and
barriers let down
bare to the world,
cringing,
I step forward
Each movement
A searing lesson
in pain and torment,
suffering in the wear,
but still
endured
A rays first
touch
torching cobwebs
shame spun
the second dusted
mistakes layered
each sashay forward
leaping in time
pealing layers
of camouflage,
in daylight
stripped,
of shadows hold,
deluded
in Illusion
——
In that place
shadow at heel,
consuming all,
he waits,
holding fibrils
of identity,
tethering to life
ready to draw me home,
kicking and screaming
Summons somewhere up the courage
that has managed to get you to this
point in your life thus far
And drag yourself clinging kicking
and screaming somehow onwards up
If only for if nothing else and no other
particular reason than not giving
life the satisfaction
Of the experience of seeing and feeling
what it is like to be on the recieving end
Of having two fingers or the bird flipped
at you
Simply for the fun and he'll of it
And remember this they who laugh last
Twinkle with an everlasting smile
Which cometh with a lifetime guarantee
And others will intern surely bouyed on
bye your inspiration will be bound to
wishfully follow in your wake
Because the first and most important
domino of them all is the initial one
Otherwise no one else will and has
anyone to follow
I have a right to dance.
In my elder years, all sound has faded.
The once pure melodies are now atonal.
But kicking up a storm,
dancing is a revolutionary act.
I have a right to dance.
I awaken to a chorus of chanters,
I awaken to the legends and lore.
Part dream, part audio reception.
Part past life, part immaculate conception.
Part laugh, part delirious deception.
I am connected, I am comforted,
I am confronted, I am contorted
by forces ever so much larger,
by senses ever so much stronger.
I have a right to dance,
a right to prance in the human parade.
Like ants, my cells are self-organizing.
Like trees, my rings archive my story.
I smell and taste the music I recall.
I savor the instinctual harmonies,
the behavior of rhapsodies.
I deliver the symbolic pirouettes,
the mimetic genuflect.
All motion becomes a spectacle.
All movements shape a carnival.
With my body, I advance,
moods and dreamscapes, I enhance,
lost and forgotten in the endless expanse.
I have a right to dance!
"To those still confined in the worldly
realm, no legacy I leave, just a kiss
that carries rapidly vanishing memories,
my final farewell" _ Carolyn Devonshire
___________________
since your death Carolyn ...
I have been in ... a void unfathomable
the diagnose of cancer a few weeks ago
had left me in shock and denial
and there was no hope ...
~ the cancer had spread all through your body
and your fate was written
in the book of life and bargaining was useless ~
so I have been meditating
as I often do when I feel hopelessness
I breath in and out like ocean waves and close my eyes
and I am falling into emptiness ... until I see blue ocean waves
crashing on a beach
~ and you are barefoot and carefree ... kicking the waves
you look up smiling and wave to me
and then one thought to the next merge and mingle
as I reverie our friendship over many wonderful years ~
in a trance I write words to honor you
and abandon myself to pockets of time
words we said and words you have written
and flickers of your memory that will haunt me evermore
oh, I have been in a daze ... a void of grief
in a waking dream where I stumble lost
~ you are at peace now free of all pain
walking some heavenly ocean ...
Carolyn, I must accept your death and these flickers
and memories ... holding each one inside my heart
where reveries and reality meld
and I will treasure each gift given
... especially the ocean shells ~
_____________________
August 8, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/Grief: A Tribute to Carolyn
Copyright Protected, ID 08-1379-509-08
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, The Void
sponsor, Unseeking Seeker, Judged 08/11/2021
Eighth Place
Shh… everythings gonna be okay
do you know what it’s like, walking in my shoes?
If its going to be a good day, or a bad one, I can never choose
My life is surrounded by screaming and crying
You tell me I can control, but trust me, I am trying
You stroke my hair
saying, “ shh… everythings gonna be okay….”
Maybe it will one day….
i am upset over tiny, miniscule things that make no sense
kicking, clawing, and screeching, till my muscles get too tense
You're wrong when you claim to know me
Blinded by denial, unable to hear my every plea
I am trapped inside my crying, screaming body
yearning for my escape, telling myself, “what are you doing, Stop!”
Control over my actions is a play, and I am just a prop.
Now, I can’t ever tell when my next outburst will be, or how long it will last
always being haunted by the dead hand of the past…
I was always like this, and forever will I be
One day you will see..
This is no act, decision, or game
after every episode, I am riddled with shame…
still you stroke my hair
saying “ shh…. everything is gonna be okay..”
Form:
Married twenty-seven years, Joyce never expected Sam had a friend.
That meant more than their family, more than his sons or his mother.
Joyce kept Sam’s mother, who had lived with them for the last twelve.
His mother kept apologizing for her son, she was embarrassed, and ashamed.
It’s not your fault, she told her. It’s mine. I somehow failed him.
Neither wanting to blame the one they both loved intensely, Sam.
The one who walked away, pulled by a “friend” away from his family.
Sam came crawling back two years later, begging Joyce to forgive him.
He was welcomed like a prodigal son. Mom and wife surrounded him with love.
He looked into Joyce’s eyes and saw diamonds, she was the real deal.
He was kicking himself for real now. Why had he left her….
for a person who had rhinestone integrity and an evil heart?
His sons were not as forgiving, and his mother was still angry; he could tell.
I went into Covid-19 isolation kicking and screaming.
Shrieking my dismay, irritated and angry.
Hoping it would not last more than a week.
No friends, no neighbors, no relatives. No shopping. No school.
A month into it, we teachers were given daily lessons.
I wanted my life back!
We learned Zoom, Google, and a bunch of other new skills.
We taught online. . It was horrible at first, but in a bit, I loved it.
I enjoyed not having to drive to and from work.
It was a year before we returned to school physically.
We started out small – two days a week, then three days a week.
Changing my outlook and my attitude is how I survived this pandemic.
Believe it or not I was a shy young man
Led a very uninteresting life
Then met a crazy lady named Cathie
“Laugh every day”, her advice
Life's short, you'll wonder where it went
Don't know how much is remaining
“So party it up, make the most of it,” she said
“You'll soon be kicking up geraniums”
So I took her advice maybe a little to literal
Not a serious bone in my body
So don't ya blame me, blame it on Cathie
A slave to this sweet younger hottie
It's [email protected]
That's her private and personal address
Some might like her to explain how she did it
Haven't a clue I must really confess
Once was a shy and retiring young man
She changed my whole life around
I'm now the dude I always wanted to be
Where joy and silliness abound
© Jack Ellison 2013
Ghosts do sing too—
only their mouths
open too wide,
as if no commissure binds them,
like gates unlatched by silence.
They sing at the wake of each night,
while dreaming birds forget the sky;
when moonlight burns its brightest,
and the awoken owls can only howl.
Though they sing in graves of clay,
their melodies rise beyond the day;
they are melodious on heaven’s rim,
then blend with silence when the wind rolls on wheels.
Their songs are celestial fire—
angels their ecclesiastics, their choirmasters.
The notes are sonorous,
yet only danced to by
the flapping of their wings—
not by wriggling waists
nor kicking limbs;
for their legs no longer walk but float,
and motion keeps no memory—
a breath dissolved in thin air.
Their song—once mortal, once mundane—
now a chorus divinely condoned;
for they were composed
and filled with praise for the King of Glory—
the One who holds the crown alone,
who shares His glory with no one.