Long Locating Poems
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2200 E High Street
Pottstown, PA 19464
Upon making a purchase,
yours truly murmurs bonjour
to the man/woman clerk
manning cash register,
(perhaps another day)
maybe soon as tomorrow
January twenty four -
two thousand and twenty,
I will explore
Moonlight madness sale
fifty percent off all merchandise
across the expansive floor
after getting weary and footsore
snagging garments for near future
return home to stock wardrobe (mine)
satisfied with basement bargains galore,
aye attest bang for buck heretofore
wearables specially bought with difficulty,
née impossible mission finding clothing
to fit this hunchback named Igor.
Rather than pay top dollar i.e.
as prestigious patrician wag
hashtagged with extremely
high price tag
(think chic boutiques)
uninviting to token
garden variety scalawag
(i.e. namely yours truly),
who feels more at home
attiring himself courtesy ragtag
garments, particularly scant legal tender
jangling within me threadbare moneybag
plus deformity drawing
less stares when I lollygag
(matter of fact many "Zerns people")
populate said very affordable - egad
even amiable animals
amble along to stash their feedbag.
Impact on very limited budget
affords me more bang for buck
upon locating rare find,
I feel analogous to lucky duck
quacking and fluffing tail feathers
scouting around for usable goods
another shopper did finish
with thence did huck.
It was just yesterday that I found myself in a nonturning lane. The only problem was that I discovered it too late and was already in the turning position which meant that I had to yeild to what car was in its proper lane. Fortunately, unlike myself, The driver was a clear headed person, and I was able to make the turn without consequence.
It was some 15 or more years ago that I found myself lost a rural area new to me. Without phone, GPS, or road map, and no one in site to assist me, I did not know what to do. It then accurred to me that if I could locate the position of the sun, I could find my way out of my predicament. Locating the sun setting in the west, I followed the sun, my yellow bride road, and found my way home.
In my opinion, like me, my dear country America has lost
her way and many are praying that she finds her way home.
In a very real sense, I was glad to hear the sun say to me,
"Sir, this way home".
02202020 (See part 2)PoSp
Peering beyond reach of human capacity
I revolve around the sun in a solar orbit,
Looking deep in space for origins of bygone
Going way beyond anyone has ever gone,
Exploring unknown world of astronomy
Searching light from first stars and galaxies
Traversing back in time where it all began,
Forming our universe after the Big-Bang.
Some 13.6 billion light-years my eyes reach,
Studying evolution, formation of galaxies,
Vast, colorful, mysterious shapes and sizes,
Eying origins of life and planetary systems
Probing, discovering, unfathomable infinity,
For one light-year equals six trillion miles~
A feat, only for the confidence of audacity.
I capture images spectacular to every sight,
Viewing light that is invisible to human eye
Locating nebulae, gas planets, dust clouds,
Collision of galaxies where stars are born,
Traversing back in time where it all began,
Probing galactic universe~ terra incognita.
No longer a phantasy, I am real as can be,
An eye of science and a mind of curiosity,
Intellectual tenacity and proof of ingenuity,
In acumen and wisdom of Astrophysicists,
I am the bold vision of infrared astronomy,
I am the flight vying hypnotic destination
Buoying on wings of scholarly inspiration.
Much is yet undone, for I have just begun,
Orbiting diligently until my work is done,
Until dreams become reality of my mission.
For insight into creation, I am the ray of hope~
I am the James Webb Space Telescope.
August 28, 2022
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 13 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Terra Incognita
Note: NASA launched James Webb Telescope on December 25, 2021.
Images are being released starting July 12, 2022.
You can view the spectacular images at: Webb.nasa.gov
Webb is an international program led by NASA with its partners
European Space Agency and Canadian Space Agency.
Stepping over the threshold
Locating the floor buttons
I press the 3rd floor
~ my brain images still flashing ~
Disfigured long flames curl around
Cherished memories-
Dry spruce branches smoking and crackling
Glowing coals cooking steaks in a fire
Above the crashing waves on the North Shore
Of Lake Superior with mom and dad
Laughing and sipping root beer
Spying a twisted piece of petrified oak
most likely a plank
From an ancient sunken vessel splintered
In the Gale's of November
Loosening the piece from the grips of glistening
Basalt boulders, etching our names and place
Of discovery above striated agates embedded in
Crevices a millennial ago
Proudly displayed on the mantle above my fireplace
Gone
Now
Only precious memories remain
I flash the card lock on my hotel room
Entering
The
Future
2/18/23
Argh resolution between
self and eldest
dear daughter more remote,
now then locating
a left handed monkey wrench,
cuz she feels this papa
did deliberate smote
her upside the head, knocking
Eden Liat stone cold
in an abysmal trench
thus, this dada doth fear a mill
stone shaped albatross
around thy neck aye will tote,
where rotting bird
doth emit fetid oppressive stench
gloomily decry death asper,
paternal progeny blighted love
epitaph finis fate wrote.
Methinks (nee knows) marital infidelity
steep dividend warrant wrought
chances greater finding needle in haystack
versus pointless thought
exercise regarding deus ex machina sought
forgiveness ex post facto, rethought,
yet miracle needed, viz
twill require against overwrought
progeny's psyche mor'n
solo requiem Te Deum never sung,
hence no guarantee
father as overthought
against embarkation entailing,
nor divine chorus baptizing can nought
assuage besotted dada's flesh, handwrought
hence fiery eternal damnation
no gunsmoke match e'en gunfought
by Jesse James, no penitence
bequeathed only dreadnought
visa vis admitting how affair
kneaded joyus kindling brought
philandering husband discovered
emotional refuge (against spousal
epithet strewn expletive language,
whence mistress besought
similar sexual satisfaction,
and subsequent fallout an afterthought.
retrospective reflection stills nothing
more serious then slap on the wrist
while engaged (~ January 2010) with
nothing sinful 'bout peccadillo tryst
understandable wife got sorely pissed
on the sly behaviour the missus
blindsided, hence over
looked and missed
and figurative wedge
cleft asunder nearly kissed
our marriage goodbye
extra-marital romp illicit,
though we nearly came to fist
sta cuffs, where salty crude name calling
in conjunction with execrable
derogatory cussing contribution complicit.
Written: October 15, 2023
_______________________________________________
Shadows dwell in the confines of dreams.
I delve into an abyss of enigmas streams.
The soul is a marvel waiting to be unfolded.
To be felt, embraced, and aired to the world.
I slowly peel up my mask for each wary tug.
Disclosing the truth lies beneath the shrug.
Finishing yet another conundrum or quest.
locating the vitality trapped inside the chest.
Inhalations of holy trees yearn to be heard.
A tune rich with wisdom, haphazardly blurred
It falls down in pools of various hues of gray.
Time hurdles have been destroyed in clay.
Lyrics fall akin to twigs in an autumnal breeze.
Build vivid notions in the mind with salient ease.
Imaginary oxblood leaks from your lover's lips.
Whispering whispers as the full moon dimly dips
These archaic cursive instances appear in wait.
I wish tears to dry before my memories slate.
They linger on a blank page since it is too late.
Or, mingle on a shared stage as poets relate.
Before such radiance fades in the night.
To waltz and wanton, yarns of moonlight
Stars strike notes, nurturing a symphony.
A tune that vibrates in the soul is harmony.
Thus, I disclose the core of my being.
As a star sways, watch its hint of foreseeing.
The soft rumblings of the heart's embrace
A romantic choreography, a cosmic chase
But we can bear power at any given time.
To fit inside and enable our souls to sublime.
Whispers of soul embrace a cosmic love chase.
I glance inwardly for calmness and grace.
So relieved at the Christmas bells,
Which abound in stores and on cards,
That we hear on Christmas Eve,
From churches sounding for their services,
Reminding us that there's a story behind it.
A bell can be rung to call someone,
Stating that a person is in need,
Endorsing an act of service in care,
Whether you close a window or feed.
It reminds us that all people have the entitlement,
To presume their right to be cared for,
And not just accept what their carer wants to give,
But demand the help which lets them live how they want to live.
A bell can chime the last call at the pub,
Signalling you to abstract and summarise your conversation,
Collect yourself, your thoughts and conclude,
And feel the warmth that your friend has given you.
And of course, bells remind us of history,
That old technology which stood for so many things and operations in the past,
Like calling lifts or elevators,
Signing to shopkeepers that customers had just come in the door of the store,
Announcing danger ahead for a ship (like the Titanic),
Locating a lost dog or cat (now done with a GPS).
An elevator's bell never asked for your weight,
A store's door bell didn't specify your identity,
And a care call bell didn't state your request,
Nor how it was to be given.
I like bells, because they make me feel secure,
They suggest that making another aware of your presence or problem is fine,
And they normally sound so happy, so joyful,
Without any suggestion ever of guilt,
About their possible calling purpose at the baggage you may have.
Dressed in orange yellow green white
Walking the streets alone this night
Beam of light do you carry
Locating the zombie and the unbury
Shuffling along dragging their limb
A long haired creature looking quite grim
You flash your light and they did scurried
They seeing you made them less worried
Along you go but following behind
Turn you do quickly light brightly shined
A fanged toothed vampire ready to bite
Quickly discouraged from your shining light
Monsters ghoul's goblins around
Dimly lit houses with ominous sound
Boo! Is the screech form behind the big tree
Jump is the feet in numbers of three
Relax you're the adult don't be naive
Tonight is the night all Hallows eve
Tricks for candies treats for a chore
The better the trick the candies are more
Watch them wisely they many in number
Someone to guard them before their slumber
In your bright vest volunteer protector
Neighbourhood watch for Hallows collector
I was helplessly lost in a quaint little town,
frustrated and floundering, wearing a frown
in the MARKET for oddities I’d heard about
from a friend who’d raved, “Bill’s Thrills will please you, no doubt!
I recall how to get there–I think. Write this down!”
I was careful to write down each minute detail.
I’d set out feeling positive I could not fail.
Since I had full directions, I knew I’d soon find
Bill’s Thrills, but then getting lost blew my poor mind.
My heart beat too fast and my face grew so pale,
.
Just when I’d given up on locating that shop,
an unusual SIGN on the right made me stop.
It said, “We Know the Way”; and an ARROW, bright green—
and quite curvy—led me to a most puzzling scene,
a small shop—almost HIDDEN on a mountaintop.
I bought two picture frames and a Disney whatnot.
Then my strong curiosity made me ask what
was behind the shop’s name. He said, “It did quite well
as Bill’s Thrills, but I changed it when I started to sell
these TomTom’s. They’re popular; I sell a lot!
Then so gladly I paid for a TomTom and learned
how to program it. No longer lost, I returned
to my house. Now quite often I think of that night;
in the middle of nowhere I witnessed the height
of IRONY that took me a while to discern.
March 25, 2018, entered in Julia Ward's Hidden Market Contest
Locating door D-75
Of a large colony on a drive,
At last close, ah D-74!
I must be right at destiny’s door.
But the next turns out B-68!!
What, lost at the very Pearly Gate?
So I felt midway through my poem—
Roots in air, hangs down to earth tree’s stem!
Old wisdom, the time turns when adverse,
I recalled oft-quoted holy verse
From Bhagavad-Gita’s holiest text
Talking of Tree of Life, but what next?
At wits’ end and left with not a clue,
You hope some divine help might rescue.
______________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek sonnet |09.02.2022|
Poet’s note: a sonnet of sort set in anapaest meter.