Long Lapsing Poems
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that carves out a space of measured boundaries
that's given shape by force of will
that makes one smaller in walled existence
to think outside the box
to forge a different understanding
to upend expectations
to act on words that burn with fire
trail blazers
like seniors lapsing marathons
what's blocking the exit?
a box of familiarity that isn't freedom
when shadows stand in for substance
a lethargy of vision
where no fresh colors flash their sheen
what can be wrenched apart?
the box that traps us in seclusion
to re-imagine music
to elevate like choosing
Poem written April 30, 2023
stark confusion had convulsed his wayward soul
when twilight unsettled the horizon’s tearful shadow
a silhouette invited to colour a rainbow
in order or chaos of reflection and suspense
with a juddering jolt thunder and lightening
arrested the lapsing moment for a reprieve
was it to be a display of new meaning at dawn
or dusk in a requiem of ultimate capitulation
songbirds began to recite an apocalyptic symphony
sunflowers serenaded their heads towards rock bottom
out of nowhere domiciled in frightening stillness
personified disguise gave way to clarity and meaning
outside it was still icily cold and he trembled in awe
inside a virtual earthquake gave hot fissures to birth
seismic eruptions mingled with deluded stagnation
and yet heartfelt paranoia merely portrayed an illusion
heretically the Buddha made love to the Virgin Mary
but the theatre of the absurd became a kaleidoscope
what if I have been blinded by insightful caress
is this a treasure trove infused with night vision
had he collided with a meteor or was it a comet
would the Phoenix rise from the ashes or acquire Icarus’ wings
chronicity had paused and he was unsure whether
he was moving backward or forward or both or at all
all he knew for sure was that he had to take the next step
and that darkness and light may happen at the very same time
As I rummage through the cabbage patch of general affairs,
I’m made aware of certain signs of cultural decline.
I see it written in the talon marks of chem-trails overhead,
Confirming all my pet conspiracy theories.
It’s rooted in the topsoil of a flat earth conviction.
It’s every suburban legend’s low hanging fruit.
It’s the latest mass shooting as a Tik-Tok challenge
Teasing gut brain muscle memories with algorithms of outrage.
It’s all flash, but no drive, just broad-spectrum rhetoric
Inducing Karenoia and cultivating satanic panic,
All in the name of the Good Lord and Savior.
It’s the dog whistle only heard by those whose ears
Cannot think outside the Fox, where waxy yellow build-up
Is impacted, unyielding to the voice of Reason.
It’s, “OK groomer,” “Don’t say gay,” and "Let's go Brandon."
It’s the Battle Hymn of the Replacement.
It’s the influencers trending on social media.
It’s the meme that captures the lapsing of just a still moment,
Like a fly frozen in the amber of time everlasting.
It’s the universal selfie unapologetically posted on the Cloud.
You may be cool, but you’ll never be Korean cool.
And yet you try ever so hard to be.
When I slice with Occam’s butter knife
The loaf becomes a senseless pile of crumbs.
And so it goes.
Spring in her step, she’s stepped into spring;
Long silence lapsing, she’s longing to sing.
Keying the lock, she unlocks the keys,
Soothing sweet sonnets, soft melodies.
Tuning her pitch, she pitches her tune;
Heavenly choirs, splendidly crooned.
Flirting with flowers, she flits through the hours,
Blossoming, blooming, testing her powers.
Birthing, unearthing breathtaking views;
Ballooning, expanding, melodious muse.
Loamy rich overtones, lavish, lush spoils,
Overtures plenty - turned in the soil.
Pleasantly following phonic pursuits,
Soulful production of flavorful fruits.
Knowingly rises, ascended, arose;
A rose’s sweet scent awakens the nose.
Arranged like a rainfall, like bells on a roof;
Sonically soaring - aloft, not aloof.
Like slipping through sieves with clever deceiving,
Looming in view, a loom that she’s weaving.
Minding her time, she needs no reminding;
Bound for a spell, she’s simply spellbinding.
Taking a breather, she puts on the brakes.
Shuttering shuddering, tremulous shakes;
Tenacious timbre, tremendous takes,
A garden of glorious growth in her wake.
----------
for the 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 20 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mark Toney
written 03/21/2022
A lovely day, the eighth of May, with sunshine and light breeze
You could not tell, that all’s not well and we felt safe at ease
A little blip, a video clip, showed damage way out west
But that was far, and could not mar our little place of rest
The march of time, brought clouds that climb, into an angry sky
And soon the voice, gave us a choice, as winds began to fly
I stood and watched, the radar notched, and signified a storm
I waited to see, the possibility, of it’s mighty form
In lapsing light, at infamous heights, they formed and went away
With funnels strong, it was not long, I heard the voice say
“Take cover NOW, the storms somehow, are imminent and direct”
So in a panic, acting quite frantic, we sought a way to protect
As sullen skies stopped, the stillness topped our deep distraught concern
And all was still, and quiet until, the skies began to turn
Clouds regrouped, and trees were scooped, like toothpicks they did snap
And running fast, entrance at last, was like a treasure map
We were inside, seeking to hide, from winds and funnel cones
Windows broke, and trees did stroke, our little country home
Our chimney fell, the stones did sail, the rocks blasted our roof
The wind and rain, sound like a train, the damage is the proof
Well I must say, it went away, as fast as it had started
It seemed much longer, as it was stronger, just before it parted
It buried the cars, with trees like bars, in only thirty seconds
With doors blocked, the driveway socked, and freedom clearly beckoned
We were blessed, and if you guessed, this was real and true
In cleanup mode, our small abode, with so much left to do
I ache for those, whose loss arose, to greater heights than this
With nature’s aim, no one’s to blame, just pray it goes amiss
Despite cosmetic surgery to stave
inevitable demise cheating grim reaper
indefatigable measures undertaken
buzzfeeding mortal legacy bajillion
dollar industry remaining eternally
youthful cold comfort knowing eventual
degradation conquers biological aging,
yet open casket bestows approving
nods upon aesthetic corpse denouncing
any telltale evidence rigor mortis stole
once hearty life source attested by
tranquil poise, albeit deathly stillness
former body electric forever quiet
among the mourning crowded house
impossible mission to still flowing tears
emotionally poignant moment onlookers
suddenly ever acutely aware their
demise guaranteed, an inalienable pact
linkedin with birthright, this scribe ponders
figuratively digging unearthing morbid
fascination with afterlife, yet neither
hastening mine demise, neither fearing,
protesting, nor ululating unproductive futile
entreaty against transient fleeting
consciousness, asper one carbon based
entity, who wonders if other creatures
great and small revile, (or perchance
question) authority, vis a vis temporarily
bequeathing forces procreative and
subsequently terminal, maybe other
species less insightful meditating being
gifted with sense and sensibility without
pride nor prejudice to speculate, deliberate,
articulate...regenerative processes that
eventually co opt breathing, functioning,
longing versus pensive postulating post
mortem phenomena, pinging noggin within
noggin of one weatherbeaten, haggard,
cadaverous *****sapien in truth...he
admits being petrified, what...whereat
lapsing millenniums found yours truly
cursed by Gorgons remaining forever
stone cold harboring no recollection
about livingsocial enjoying good n plenti
"FAKE" experiences trumpeting conspiracy
theories – fools like me (rush'n), where
angels fear to tread including collusion
explaining my ill fate.
Why, does existing have to be
a visit of time then leaves me.
Threads of my life are still unsaid.
Silently I wipe away tears
of lapsing thoughts, sorrow and fears;
throwing off spider webs of thread.
I stand by the window and gaze
at white ships depart a blue maze
they have sought to borrow ahead.
Everyday another Sunday.
Every day is silent and grey;
prison of aches and pain I dread.
Why, does existing have to be
burdensome. My mortal thoughts flee
like rain drumming at my window,
then trickles releasing a dam
leaving me brittle to exam
my own conscious; what do I know.
Surpassing life hopes as I winch
loneliness devours inch by inch.
My lips quake and swell at my low
detaching my dying cinder.
I can't take another winter
confronted with the ebb and flow,
not being able to foresee
mental skills decline as I grow
old and suppose to comfort me.
6/13/2018
Why is this place not dry?
Mother must be outside birthing
Beside herself beneath a light
Convulsing to let me out
I wither as others can not
In spite of appearances it would be madness
Not to say good-bye to the womb collapsing
Lapsing back to a more normal form
Mother’s must keep their shape
Pretty is the day
What if I should stir?
Do babies stir outside?
I can’t remember being born
Coming forth from nothing
Living must be nice
It is clear as the gathering night
It is enough to be alive, to be me
When the time comes I will leave
The womb loves little company
I come to my mother once again
Solitary this time with a kiss
Sometime before never I will return
To a joke told by the universe
I have never conceived
But mother has
She is a professional at that
Tolerance of differences
quietly lies between passive-aggressive anger,
then fear,
then active hatred,
And all the way on up to enchanting positive awe,
and then ecstatically cooperative wonder,
and then sacred multiculturing,
creolizing,
transubstantiating communion
of whole synergetic multilateral systems.
Neutral heuristic faith in Golden Rules and Ratios--
despite past warring differences,
chaotic oppositions of power
and complex appositions of potential integrity--
Lies between blind LeftBrain degenerating faith
then apathy
lapsing toward manic paranoia,
And all the way back to RightBrain with newer LeftBrain co-enchantment,
cooperatively ecstatic wonder
and then sacred Eastern nondual communion
with active Western secular non-violent ecological relationships
promoting global DNA nutrition
as communal multicultural wealth
through cooperative WinWin economic/ecological harmonies--
efficiencies short through long-term positive
with effective whole-system eco-relationality.
Gospel faith
is substance of relational things yet unseen
yet also actively hoped for,
advocated with new nutritional eyes and solidarity ears.
Good multiculturing faith is not violent bad monoculturing faithlessness,
nor blind and at-war faith
because healthy positive hopes
values
norms
ethical nurturing systems of life, not death,
are not blind
but inherited healthy v pathological sight
Back through all past DNA fertility strings
of historically regenerative
polypathic love,
grace,
cooperatively-owned EarthKarma,
EarthTribe's future green communion,
EarthJustice of past unseen ultra-nonviolent communication choices,
personal and politically not so entirely blind,
longing to restore good and tasty 2020 democratic trust.
Same Mistakes?
Still learning about how to act
Still trying to join the pack.
Still lapsing like a terminal case
Still miles way off the human pace.
So stupid, how I can’t explain?
So crazy, such little brain
So insecure, I might explode.
I’m like a safe without a code.
I find excuses I’m never direct.
I haven’t got the intellect.
I think you can read my mind.
I’m so many miles behind.
Apologising, when the monster comes.
Apologising every rising sun
Apologising I’ve repeated the same.
Apologising I’ll up my game.
This poem, another confession
This poem therapist session
This poem is a plea, understand.
This poem nothings planned.
David Cox 07/05/24