Long Meddle with Poems
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His dead body was lying on the sand.
Frigid, frigid waves appeared to bite his lips.
His pulse and breath stopped as he left his land.
The motion seemed to shake his fingertips.
His mother's wish was to find a land far from war.
A trip that happens at night on the open sea.
He stumbled like a fish amid the chaos and roar.
As the arms that were holding him set him free.
If you snap my way or meddle with me once,
This is what you do at the risk of your own life.
My image of calm and kindness is rather false.
I've witnessed enough heartbreak and strife.
A photo went across the world as a waste of time.
If it went over well, it did little to quell the crime.
Written: May 27, 2023
Unending lines, vast voids, shapes
meddle with my mind
and ghost an odd geometry,
the same that sometimes
twitch when a sudden waking
decapitates a dream.
Time dilates or shrinks
to a tiny dot pulling all
into its orbit then ruptures
into a rainbow, each strand
of color winding tighter
and tighter around my head.
It's the sense
of not being able to fit back
into the space where I belong,
when I become either too small
or too big or somehow
utterly change in shape.
Such disorientation lingers,
never quite forming into a coherent
thought but floats the boundaries
like a mist clouding
the fevered brain of a child who,
emerging from hallucination,
cannot give form to the terror.
A part of me remains there
held in the thick webs of a dream,
at times breaking through the surface
of sleep into where my waking mind
holds me, fearful,
frothed in the real.
Note.
This poem takes “geometric nightmares
and/or dreams” as its subject. I have had
these most of my life and what I once thought to be rare are apparently experienced by many.
The poem probably won't make much sense without having a little knowledge
of the phenomenon. Almost impossible to
describe the dream experience in words
and the residual distortions that linger
after waking.
I go back to Pinterest because why wouldn't I.
It's addictive and gives me something to do I won't even lie.
I scroll and click and scroll and click once more.
It's hard to put down because it keeps my mind in control.
There's rings, clothes, books, and most importantly help for me.
I can relate a little too much to some of the posts and that's key
For me to come back I need to want, to CRAVE the feed
Everyday I open it and everyday I feel my hate for myself grow and my love for Pinterest turn into need.
It makes me happy. I know it's confusing but that's where my heart settled
I lay in my bed looking at these people who I wish I was and I meddle
I meddle with my mind but also my body. But I can't be them and I never will be and I come to term
I've thought that I hate this app but I love it because it can be good, i've learned
It's fun, nice, addictive, and amazing just don't scroll too deep or you'll get beat
I've had too much experience diving too deep and that's a fact
But I just CAN'T stop going back!
The black river mills are seen in the distance
The red skies show spiraling, gray clouds
The earth is man’s canvas
And the mills slowly mix the paint
We have seen the devastation
We have felt the desperation
Some of us wallow in our watercolor
And leave the canvas blank
The mills crush their bones to the bottom
Mixing them nicely into the paint
People are pushed in without thought
Others go in willingly
The river mills are closer to my view
And my brush is stiff and unused
Women and children walk alongside the rivers
The elderly follow and sometimes shake their heads
On a cliff, I watch them all
My brushstroke stiff and worthless
Shakily I climb down the precarious cliff
Brush in hand
Canvas in view
Watching people suffer in the paint of their mistakes
People wanting to be part of the picture
I never desired this. . .
I wanted to create a masterpiece
The women and children are gone
—except one
I see a little black boy standing alone
He is watching me curiously
Tears in his eyes
He is a watcher
He was born to suffer
He never desired this either
“I’m sorry.”
The boy smiles sadly and takes my hand
“It’s okay. I understand.”
I shed digital tears
And program some control
It is quiet, save for the sound of the river mills
It has mixed well
The colors are astounding
“Are you sure you want to stay?”
The boy nods.
“No one wants me mixed with them.”
He is a creator
He is a watcher
I dip my brush into the churning waters
I then hand it to the little black boy
“The world is your canvas now. . .” I whisper.
It was NEVER mine to meddle with. . .
And we are set apart for a reason
But together we are incomparable
*sometimes
the people who tell me I am somebody
are the ones who make me feel like nobody.*
--your lies will always lie still and stiff like the corpse inside me you created.
It will not rot
It will not decay.
how do you steal the life you never gave me?
I've lived and died many times already.
I am immune to my immortality
It smells like ice.
It tastes like void.
It runs on crude and sour etiquette.
It's so esoteric naturally
that me myself is unnatural.
Do not play me with poison
You are not ivy or oak
trust me, learn your chemicals
We are toxins, take caution
See luck in my state of shock.
And so be it, I refuse
to suffer all alone another time
(again and again)
because that corpse you created will never move
nor will i ever forget.
I will not rot.
I will not decay.
Never meddle with the dead.
March9th2023
Come and paint me naked and bare
and meddle with the joy and sorrow that I bear,
come and paint my dignity
and touch the soft spot of my sanity
deliver the wellspring of life
and help me roll the winning dice.
Come and splash your paint all over me
and rub the texture into the canvas
and highlight the delicate lines
that meet beyond the mountainous sky
and watch the paint drips
Come and brush my face with your fine brush
and make a new portrait of me
just paint me the way you see me
and don’t hold back the mystery
there is a detail in everyone that
nobody can understand, it takes
a true artist to find it
and a master painter to highlight it
Come and paint my dreams and
Reveal the final scene.
Paint my soul and spirit
and love as nature reveals it
paint my body with your charm
And shake the dust off of my feet
And when you done hang it on the wall
And listen to my heart beat
Paint me in my natural self
Paint my before you go to bed
And when you have nothing to do
just paint me!
Life is pleasurable,
If you understand it.
It's miserable,
If you misread it.
Mind your own questionnaires;
Don't meddle with others’ affairs.
Life is a difficult riddle,
Solve it with a tune on your fiddle.
Life is a progressive vehicle,
It goes about the way you drive it.
Make not your journey so critical;
Be cautious at every bit.
Vices can make a man quite mean;
Life is precious, keep it evergreen.
To be born a man, is itself a boon;
Hope you come to senses soon…
Brian Strand July 8 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Date: 08-07-2021
Place: 1st
They said they would do it
And done it they did,
But little they know
They’ve lifted the lid.
The kettle is boiling,
The heat never more,
I’m ready and waiting
To even the score.
Revenge is my hammer,
My words knives to throw,
Those dithering fools
They’ll reap what they sow.
Pelosi’s a patsy,
So devious and mean,
But Schiff’s the real loser,
I’ll make that toad scream.
Impeach me for what,
Merely a ploy,
A political stunt
To maim and destroy.
Little they realize
Those bumbling schemers,
The country’s aware
They’re delusional dreamers.
The Senate’s my tool
To dismantle this thing
And then mark my words,
I’ll make their ears ring.
They meddle with me
At their peril and grief,
Their victory dance
Pathetic and brief.
This 45th President,
So great and so strong,
Will rule yet a while,
For sure four years long.
The time has come to give some joy
To this sad and depressed world
To bring some happiness into hearts
Alike to young and old
Soft music to lift up the mood
And fragrant candles to light up darkness
The deep and impenetrable darkness
Will light up with joy
Bringing lightness to every mood
And the spirit of giving to this world
Caring for those persons old
With the trueness of heart
The spirit of this season in the hearts
Will demolish all darkness
The cheer felt by young and old
Will be seen by the passing joy
As it spread its cheer in this world
Uplifting everyone’s mood
This uplifted merry mood
Will cheer and brighten every heart
Happiness will reign in this world
No time for evil darkness
To meddle with supreme joy
When it shines brightly in the eyes of the old
Together we young and old
Will cheer away the sad mood
Dancing hand in hand with joy
With laughter brimming in our hearts
Forging away in darkness
To diminish it in this world
The brighter and better world
A safe haven for young and old
Life free of all darkness
Cheery and merry mood
Mellowness and kindness in every heart
Bringing to this universe some joy
To bring into hearts of this world some cheer
The mood out of darkness being uplifted
And into life of old some joy is given
Time sat with her antinomic daughters two :
Destiny the elder, tall, fastidious and hard ;
And Luck, the merry, playful conjuring guard
Who averts the pre-ordained, out of the blue
The old lady crocheting together events odd ,
Twisting her head ,opened up the dispute :
'Why need you meddle with and transmute
'All that ensues along Fate's heavy, firm plod
Considering the plight on the marked path ,
"Mom " , said the other with a wry smile
" I let my picks find the vicissitudes wile
"That favour the brave who bear Life's wrath".
Thus went the dialectic , neither did concede ;
Striking an attitude, blurted the one serious ,
That every act has its effect due and various ;
The other winked and shrugged, to plead :
Hope induces vigour in crisis and breakdown
As morbid defeat glides like an avalanche ,
And committed strife finds enlivening chance
If death is certain , survival is winner's crown .