Long Leashed Poems
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THE ALBATROSS
Under thunder blows a colder wind, across an endless sea,
Like a voice from the call of a far off shore in the solitude we perceive;
For ago remained an innocent age, torn away by a thousand years
Where sincerity alone is tied to its own majestic grace;
But flow on the bluest waves over the oceans deep and wide
Waiting long for things abandoned
Forsake those condemned to the early dawn, far past ten thousand year’s,
Still in all its silent symmetry, flies by a bird on wing;
Mysterious seemed that outstretched arm, in all 10 feet in span
Grasping what came from the east, bound to rays of light;
For seas are blessed by both good and bad
Waiting long for what’s abandoned
Fifty years is doomed to its own intent, lost in its own emotion,
While all that we can hold, is a time fifty thousand past;
Come see what waits is a soul possessed, holding a daylights passage
Where what seemed lost is an albatross, staring through its blacker eyes;
But all we see is the bluest sea, left under tomorrow’s sky
Waiting long for things abandoned
Crashes still those crystalline waves, warmed by spring’s rebirth,
Until we see an albatross, departing as the seasons change;
And a hundred thousand years escapes, slips away from time and place
Bound to the cliffs and bound to the rushes of a land so far away;
For over the bluest sea, is the sunlight that we seek
Waiting long for those things abandoned
Surrounded is he who waits in the shadow, lost to the rhythm we’ve created,
While somewhere stands an albatross, and drinks its salted wine;
For now is past a million years, gone to the mystery of life
Lost in the worth of simplicity and the innocents of desire;
But now the bluest sea is calm, with no sign of what is past
Waiting long for things abandoned
Escaped the thought of an albatross bound to the symbol of its virtue,
Leashed to the seas and the sound of the waves, longing a far off shore;
Hold on to the meaning of our vision, past ten million years
And hear the call of an albatross, its beauty and its wonder;
For here we see the bluest sea, in a land of lost intent
Waiting long for those things abandoned
By m.norton
Artfully dodging explosive solutions
pretending shackles restrained prisoner
lobbed pseudo Molotov cocktails
kindly, loosely, and mutinously linkedin
liberal short (make believe) chain
leashed faux abysmal isolated confinement
former courtly poet,
who consumed prison fare
equalling bread and thin gruel
poetical, quizzical, and rational thinking
wrought eventual gladness!
Meanwhile elsewhere within
another complex edifice
Stormy (Daniels) reign
came and went
accompanying barren
cruel don, trumpeting
issuing expansion fiat
wielding, gesticulating, brandishing...
ironclad golf club spouting art of the deal,
whereby might versus right
simultaneously Putin on the ritz
song and dance routine
crooning Ivana mock up Earth,
especially figurative roasting statesman christened
Elijah Cummings, an American politician
and civil rights advocate who served
in United States House of Representatives
for Maryland's 7th congressional district
from 1996 until his death in 2019.
That oversized ego freezer
with pouffed hair,
who shall not be named
made abominable destiny manifest
regarding eminent domain
dominion, he forcibly
relocated natives to Cajun shelters
charging them admission fees
manumission granted serving
white supremacist conveniently optioning
kids as scapegoats
re: Deferred Action for
Childhood Arrivals (DACA)
labor away migrants
grunts passive pluperfect targets
no matter forbears indigenous
to America unfortunately
been man-date to bite bullet
within badlands of El Paso
meanwhile oblivious hermit aging
barnacle encrusted manacles
absorbing cumulative dampness
no longer granting resistance
to life nor limb
timely manumission lovely bones restored
swallowed potion frothing colorful brew
contrived exquisite firearms.
Ah redeemed character
(any resemblance between
initially mentioned unfortunate soul
and living persons purely coincidental)
mentioned at outset of poem
broached out Alcatraz replica
free and clear fresh air revived
fifty shades of gray
immediately sieged moment
weakly hollered carpe diem
elixir imbued immunity
against taken hostage at gunpoint
freedmen impressed into service
while waved magic wand
whereby enslaved women
retaliated hashtagged misogynistic
took appropriate revenge
as apprenticed warrioresses!
The air is crisp, cold weather
that you can sink your teeth into.
It's midwinter with a brief break
between rainy weather fronts.
My fat limping dog and I have
got to get out of the house and
find some wildness.
He lets me know of his happiness
and I ignore his comment about hypocrites
as I put his leash on and
he drags me down the trail.
"How will we ever find wildness
under these conditions?"
he barks at me.
"Maybe this time boss?
Maybe this time you will let go?"
We walk down the trail by
the storm swollen stream and
hear the same question posed in the air.
The storm stream tries hard to break free
and wreck havoc, but,
the well engineered cement banks
give it nothing to grab hold of and it
careens on past to the sea, harmlessly.
The river's only hope to spread wildness
is another storm to raise its banks.
The grass above the banks is all of a kind,
easily mowed, and no threat to the asphalt
path we walk.
There is some hope of wildness
in the windblown debris
left over from the storm.
Perhaps seeds of a hardier folk
will move in among the grasses and
the perfect line of trees
that border the trail.
Such strangers will have to hide
and take cover before the caretakers
of the trail arrive tomorrow.
They will efficiently find all wildness
from the storm and make sure that
it is all discarded and hauled to the dump.
Perhaps I am looking for nature
in all the wrong places.
Here it has been collared and leashed
and rendered docile.
Still it fights back.
My hopeful dog directs my attention to the stream
and points to an otter that sinks when I look.
"Maybe this time, boss?" he implores.
Overhead, three noisy geese, free as you please,
as insolent as if they were twenty,
announce their imminent landing
at the county water control pond.
Not all of us are on a leash yet.
The image of beast doesn’t know
being an image of formidable foe
he is hindrance to his own essence glow
the pride of life is but parasitic show
The fact in the parasitic show
is the fact that doesn’t know
true fact hidden in ones essence glow
the fact is, the lower fact can never know(C. I Cor. 2:14 KJV)
True fact of the fact is God speed
cannot be known of concept greed
the seed of essence God speed
shall never be know of serpent seed
When a fact is a temporal fact
like an out of whack sacroiliac
intertwined to the human back
concept fact knows not essence of fact
A beast doesn’t know he’s a beast
for of his own concepts he feasts
not knowing he’s gruesome beast
a counterfeit within Love’s feast
Why in the world is there beast…?
the fall in the garden from peace
living in a wilderness un-fleeced
the beast doesn’t know he’s beast…
of his own creation un-fleeced!
A beast un-leashed is never at peace
a beast unleashed is free mind un-fleeced
the human beast doesn’t know he’s a beast
a mind un-fleeced, without Precept peace
When and why is a beast a beast…?
Love’s free-will of human mind un-leashed…
`Tis human concepts, not Precept that un-leashed
the human beast… proof that Love is at peace…
Worldly concepts are of individual free-wills
the beastly natures are of the human spills
love doesn’t will the beastly human deals
but gives space to common human ills,…
purposed to learn Love’s will…
Love spills, seal Love’s deal…
a beast is a beast
of concepts’ feast
did not come from true east..
Selah
in the middle of the atmosphere guided by the brightness of the fog that was and will be a
transformation assumes. The attraction of mental concepts consume the being who is armed
with a wonderful hyperdermic filled with scriptures imprint. Everlasting stains made and
confined to the lines of creative guidance. projective influence unfolds leaving the spine
chilled at the mad brilliance of thoughts un-leashed. The ending result of injection leads to
oohs, aahs, tears, smiles and beautiful migranes of astonishment. a flow is possesed as if
indulgence was beneath the oceans blanket. within the pupils the effect of potency can be
seen, the one behind it smirks at the steps closer to immortality. Waste not time with useless
delays, send the accolades, I live in the Paragraph.
The temperature drops and within the midst of the artic influence an extension of the hand is
revealed, with chilling details manuvers are set in motion as the un-thinkable is thought of
and created. Behold an alien tattooist bringing outer world concepts to life, or so it may
seem. conversations on clouds, tears bottled within the ocean, a promise of the dolphins
secret. Coincedences that are yet to exist, similiar to that of a god of sorts unto the
following. Relax and breathe as thy minds eye breeds intoxication like fantasies heated
within a spoon resulting in nouns that suffocate the lines, verbs that bite and amazing
sentences that may never end. thy soul is the literature, I am of the story and it is of me, in
honesty it must surely be known that, I live in the paragraph.
My darling, my heart respond again
In words I search for balms of pain
I cannot tell about love,
When it will come, or why it stays
Through years of sorrow and hope's decay
For I know not,
Except that I am born to love
My eyes sees your nest, my soul becomes a dove.
Nor do I possess, the reason for it
But why you, why of all earth's cradle
In you I long for rest, here I also am a riddle
I only know, I am a man under spell
My tongue forever pines for your breast
My heart longs to bring you happiness.
I have loved you since, I first saw you
A seraph voice, a rapture of light
You were a picture upon my sight
Memories keep me leashed
To hunger of days, desire consumes me
O goddess-like you are in beauty
My heart I cannot deny
How your heart ever clings to me
How your soul for my tired wings becomes my tree
You are bright and beautiful
A diamond shining in the heart of stars
A pearl that's made where the oyster scars
The most beautiful to grace my eyes
For you were the first moon that came
Behind my curtains and ignited my sacred flame
Your worth is more to me than rubies
I bow where others trample with their feet
And mount you on the pedestal a work complete
You are ever made new by the power of love
No dust nor grime can stain you, no rust defile
My sweet hibiscus, my fragrant jasmine oil
I love you, I love you, I love you
Till eternity meet eternity
Till dust shall put on immortality
I love you, Jew
My darling love, my pasion's bride, my joy
My dream's delight, and heaven sweet envoy.
I love you, Jew.
Black curls and hazel eyes
What do you think of when you gaze wise
Broken little girl inside heading cries
What makes a wonder of the world so intrinsic?
The brokenness and pieces that fit exquisite
How can wonders fit in so ardent
Like the Chichan Itza`s pieces are glued so capacious
When I think about our broken places
I think about those who glued in the spaces
Like our mind, is the inside of the Taj Mahal
Screaming out beauty to all
But not all quite understand the story behind the wall
With all the earnestness of Christ Redemeer
We are asked to create a power greater than hear
Say what thou wilt, but head one seer
Stories of our minds length the Great Wall
Dwelling in our minds but leashed with ones call
Take a look back and see your corral
If only our mind could open to potential like Machu Picchu
Then would one be satisfied by you?
Would one stop the search of knowledge anew?
Or would you close and hide like the inside of the Roman Colosseum?
Such beauty divine, take out and summon
Springs comes and winter fades, why haven`t you turned to summer?
If your mind runs like the water used to in Petra, Jordan
Why can`t it feed the garden?
And bring on the warren?
Caterpillars' turn into butterflies, turn into a butterfly darling
The time is now, to unleash your mind accordingly
Take the miracles of words and flow devotedly
For you are more precious than all of the wonders of the world
Take me back -
to those moonlit walks, with that silver sentinel o'er head,
to what I thought was wisdom, the thoughts to which I was led.
Take me back -
to that one mall where they played that song we liked, 'Dark Blue',
a prelude to that one girl, those few times, saying 'I love you'.
Take me back -
to that place where the majority of folks say 'hi', or nothing at all,
to some civility instead of omnipresent hatred, "brotherhood's" call.
A hundred and one days ago, I wrote of going home;
I spoke of a race there, of which I could pen a tome.
Now, at thirty nine days to go, I feel better and better;
such a short time left, and away with many a fetter.
I can be put down, I can suffer every hassle;
I can be forever disappointed in my choice to be their vassal.
However, time will not be so easily leashed, time will roll on;
time mars and mends, and for good or ill gives the ceaseless dawn.
So, I bid thee, time - take me back.
To that place I was away from for two long years,
the hearth that I now see with such different eyes and ears.
Take me back -
to that house where I learned to shoot a bow, to build, to work,
to that second family with many a smile and many a quirk.
Take me back -
to the driveway where I knelt in the rain,
the only answer to my questions the storm's refrain.
Take me back to much of the old,
and onward to all of the new.
In thirty five seconds
You may see eternity clear as day
Quick as a flash and passing away
Too fast for opinions
To contend for understanding. too
Fast to contend for judgment. Rue
It in flash, for we see
Eight thousand alive no more. All
Monuments, brick and buildings fall
And plans brings misery.
What is our history
Then, the spell of freedom and blood
Bled path to squirming from the mud?
What is our anxiety
For, tomorrow in the fishnet bleating
For its own liberation from our thinking
Shall we have nothing
More than cycles always of beginnings
Hope carved from the flesh of sufferings?
I pray for better wing.
For better Toussaint
Today, I would dig rubble and prison
Now, rescue with more than my orison
From leashed restraint
The shriveled archipelago from debris
Of the same Napoleanic thin pedigree
Every stream get along
In its own current, each heart keep pace
For its own glory, so let it be for this race
Sing not here their exotic song.
Time is brief, and life is fleet
In thirty five seconds nothing stands the same
Except the scent of cordite and the flame
No one hit the key delete
And none can hit the key return, they are gone
Eight thousand characters swept by dawn
And in the void I, child
Of perennial desolation, seek beyond wisdom
The old certainty of an unshakable kingdom
With brave Haiti reconciled
Simmering like a boiling water
My love's evaporated into the blue atmosphere
Where its bones have been scattered
To decay in the beautiful blue sky
Overheating has caused your heart to melt
Into the beauty of the blue, never to return
Escaping into a non transparent mirror, leashed there forever with a belt
Being blinded away from what our love's become
My beautiful butterfly's been swallowed by the blue
Loosing control on it's ride crashing into heaven's infinity
No accident report, only my face staring at the hue-
Of the atmosphere, lacking natures pity
The love we shared had shattered like glass
And the remnant was spread on the breeze, to bury it in the sky
Where free elements will do their will with its carcass
No map can lead you back home from such place that's high
My favorite blue kite has wandered into the thickness of the thin blue
Getting itself hidden forever in hot boiling dew
Being tamed, enslaved and transported by the black cloud
Only for me, after the storm's left; to discover the transparent elegant sky that's proud
Our love's gone into the blue like a stranger
Threatening our world with such danger
When love's left, then this is what's left
A face that stares at you from the blue, and hostility on it is spelt
contest: INTO THE BLUE
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