Long Middle age Poems
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Tell all the worlds about the treasures found
Renaissance trace spellbound in the ancient form,
Tender and haunting; an era of time curves around
Past the present to a future beset with tech charm.
Historical pages cling romantically to our eyes,
Each epoch defines a sparkling gem of surprise,
Their fluttered rebirth is like stars changing sizes
Release by time flown from the damp demise.
That dip their limbs to bow unto gloss modernity
Like the artist and sculpture, they paint a world.
Of aesthetic peculiarities and lofty discovery,
Longing to find a place soaring free in the soul.
A vault of citadels says much; then said no more
Deep within, ancient wonders rise from the ashes
Talented beauty weaves from centuries we adore,
The time and place asleep in a waste wilderness.
The plague of colors survives in medieval triumph,
England, a literary monument of architect literature.
Finds the noble heart to express cherished breath
Creating the etiquette claimed by French culture.
Such dept alone could not be paid by metamorphism
Humanism fading in a mist has its place in society,
Heightened with extreme lust and erotic mannerism,
Italy removes the conscious veil from bizarre reality.
Ceiling significant through music strings serenade,
Renaissance dazed; allusion lay dreaming half awake
The inquisition of fate went on pilgrimage made,
German sentence commute through the classical gate.
The Netherlands explore and navigate all the distances
Byzantine adherence goes beyond impregnable walls,
depict faces of the Tsars persist in the military hypothesis,
And labyrinths take refuge in Russian banqueting halls.
The richest measured proportion of distilled beverage,
Vodka values more than all the dull limited senses,
Spanish religion repository of the myths and rage
Set the path where new western experience commences.
Portugal selfie, the pinnacle piece that thirsts for commerce
Lisbon flourished paints and medicines with Flemish.
Poland concept and conflict gain border land dominance,
Spice trade rises high and makes indiscreet allusion flourish.
We travel far beyond renaissance to the greatest monument,
When the transition of culture from the middle age evolved
Mesmerized art is a rediscovery of an enduring cultural movement,
The monarch of the Roman Empire renaissance man inspired.
A Softer Way to Die
We live and study life
We pray that somehow
God changes his rules.
No one wants to die
No one wants to follow
Those complicated laws;
I mean no lie-ing - no steal-ing
no sex - before marriage no
Fornicating, no killing
No lust-greed or defiling the earth.
Amen.
All we can do now is try to find
" A softer way to die".
Pick your battles...
There are many ways to die.
I asked, God why?
When mom threw a
"Monkey wrench" in my world
Answering - "We all have to die"
I immediately winked at God...
Thinking to myself (not I).
Gave him a little nudge;
Sidebar God: I said to God
Adamantly "I do not want to die"
"Can you change the rules "?
I never heard back from him
On that subject.
I went to him again
God "Can you at least
Keep me with a mom-
I said "So that I won't be an
Orphan like Shirley Temple”?
He did get back to me on that
And Mom is Alive and well
Plan A. (living forever)
Still not executed.
Once again contemplating
Thoughts on how I want to die.
I could not think of a pleasant way
To die, none that seemed appealing.
Nor any options that would be fun.
hmmm, eat myself to death.
Playing chicken with the train,
Might prove thrilling.
As time grew nigh
My thoughts continued
.... On a softer way to die.
Childhood gone, middle age gone'
Old age approaching fast and furious
Destroying me like a sudden
Approaching hurricane...
This storm knocked out my lights
Memory gone now.
Forgetting my life- my loved ones
Forgetting my friends,
Children, and foes alike
Forgetting my wrongs - my sins
and accomplishments all.
Everything's gone. So, now
What do I do?... How can
I rewrite my life, Take account.
Of that which I remember not.
The realities if my existence
Has been wiped out from
The Forest Fires burning
In my mind’s eye.
Have no recordings of
Who loved me or of who
I shall never forgive.
How will I know that I ever even lived?
Taking my dark blank pages into
The afterlife- My shadowy
Existence ends. I feel no pain
I Have no thoughts,
Have nothing to contemplate.
For I have asked to live forever
Or that I die a, softer way
Forgetting to eat
Forgetting to drink-
Forgetting to swallow
Forgetting to breath...
Forgetting this life-
I close my eyes and fade away.
painlessly
© Vicki Acquah
Next day
A beautiful woman
Drove me to near Chicago
In a red mustang
Might have been
The girl in the song
Took it easy
Digging her vibe
She invited home
But was not sure
If her estranged husband
Would welcome me
So, I am being foolish
And inexperienced with women
Did not go to her place
And always regretted
That I had lost
My chance that day
Then on to Chicago
Several rides later
Visited friends
Hit the road again
A series of uneventful rides
With truckers
And others
And a week later
I ended in New York City
Slept along the way
In cars
In truck stops
In high way rest stops
Always moving
Always going
None stop talking
And lots of free weed
And beer
And conversation
One more memorable ride
Occurred outside Albany
On my return to Chicago
A middle age creepy looking man
Picked me up
In a brand-new Cadillac
He was he said a dynamite deliverer
For the Mafia
Went to various places
To blow up ****
He hated a lot of people
Particularly hippies from California
And Jewish people
Looking at me to confirm
That I was both
I told him that I lived in New York
And had never been to California
And although I might have looked Jewish
As I what was called back in the day
A “Jewfro”
I was not Jewish
Many years later I discovered
That I am indeed part Jewish
But then I did not know
And I felt a bit of strategic information
Might keep me alive
Then I realized that he was just jiving with me
And we relaxed
And he pulled out some weed
And beer
And we mellowed out
But I believe that he really was with the mob
Perhaps not a dynamite dealer
A real made Italian made mafia member
By Chicago
I had enough
I called my Dad
Told him what had happened
Wanted a ticket home
And he sent me a ticket
And 500 dollars
And I went home
I told him I would tell him
My tales some day
But never did
I learned so much
About my fellow Americans
And the strange vibe
That was 1975
And now it is too late
But I wanted to finally
Tell the world
Of my hitchhiking tales
In search of America 1975
end part two check out my poetry blog https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com for this and other poems
I have this strange feelings twirling in my stomach since yesterday and it will not go away, it is not a feeling of pain, it’s not a feeling of shame or guilt, it is the feeling you get when someone has taken your heart away. You know the one that young lovers get when they fall in love for the first time and don’t have a dime? It is not quite like that but almost like that. It feels like something is literally twirling in my stomach, I am not sure if it is butterfly or middle age crisis.
I was supposed to be going places, soaking in hot springs and enjoying fine beaches. I was supposed to be going places, skiing on the slopes, and holding on to the ropes, climbing branded mountains and spending the night in the wooded cabins piled up with snow around me with a little fire place to warm my hands and feet while sipping hot chocolates from my brand name mug.
But here I am in this place stuck for four long years suffocating from the stanch coming from the toilet pit hardheaded children screaming from the top of their voices, stirring my bones and sinews, great god, I have to start my life anew.
I grip firmly to my pride listening to the commotion around me and the cars racing up and down the alley, the music box shouts from across the street while the night fades slowly before me and embracing daylight in front of me. The birds start swirling in the restless sky looking for the early morning goodbye.
I walked along the road and looked at their faces soaked with anxiety and parched variety; the waxing moon hinges its burden to the sky and watches the people as they go by. Plunging into precipice and drowning in waterfalls. I watch the lines moving around the bend; parallel lines, straight line, zigzag lines, curved lines and horizontal lines that one can walk on. I followed the diagonal line to the end looking for a new friend but the butterfly kept twirling in my stomach and I feel like throwing up.
Change the plot or many more will rot, change the plot and get the people out of the rock, change the plot and get me back on track. Change the plot so that I can wear a brand new frock. Change the plot to end the shock. Change the plot and raise your glasses.
Nature loves diversity
just as air abhors a vacuum.
Stability lives in staged apposition with diversity
as Yang predicts Yin,
as time moving stably forward
predicts time imagined more diversely
as the history of regeneratively slow-evolving Earth.
Stability, without conjoining diversity,
is a highly subjective attribution
when blanketed across a lifespan,
when covering a generation of interdependent lifespans,
even when defining a genetically stable species
across many re-stabilizing generations.
What is stable within a life
is what is reliably conserved,
like a heart beat,
and breathing,
digesting and eliminating,
consumer and producer functions,
economic and political forms of conserving balance,
cooperative survival of the best interdependence
more than competitive Win/Lose frictions,
or all thoughts and feelings of stability
disappear.
Conserving stability over a lifetime
is a highly subjective attribution,
perhaps too broad and sweeping,
too global and universal
too totalitarian
too elitist biased
to be more microscopically accurate
across any one lifespan.
For example,
the growth rate of an infant
could not be stably conserved
throughout an eight-decade human life span,
nor could the constant two-year old questions, Why?
conserve stability
in a four-decade middle-age climate
of chronic crisis
about half-empty ecopolitical ego-stability.
Adolescent adventures in gender-related competitions
over multigenerational cooperations
could not stably conserve
a marriage
or a nation
or a planet
across a regenerative trans-speciating lifespan
of co-domesticating creolization,
democratization of shared wisdom,
health,
wealth.
I wonder if conserving stability
of bilateral mind,
and centering on stability with diversity body
more likely matriarchal than patriarchal,
oriented toward health and safety
across eight positive WinWin regenerations,
at eight-decades of humane life,
facing immanent individual ego-death,
could already be conservatively stabilizing
in the bicameral mindbody
of an infant child,
or even a stuck in adolescent competitions
patriarchal-dominant
nation?
More than a hindered of them in colorful suits gathers in a room
Contemplating the replacement of an icon that has left us too soon the body did not get enough time to cool and there they are
casting lot over his dead body that lies still in the tomb
I am still figuring out how he died, when he has made so much sacrifice with my face buried in the soil I held my stomach and cry.
There was not even a semblance of dignity for his reign in the Vatican city, you have your design of what his replacement should be without understanding the architect of the world and what it beholds.
Throw back your head and look at the painting of the Sistine chapel above you and you will see Micheal Angelo gift to pope Julius the conception of the world before we were call boys and girls, man was naked in his form before the break of Dawm and out of this shape man and woman made appointment for the first date.
If you can see beyond the ceiling you will know that church is about spiritual healing and the sacrifice of the world was made by men women boys and girls and so the appointee one should understand the gender of the land place the love of humanity over all other priorities.
I can see two cardinals in the tree that have studied the world in various degree, the understand the people in it and the religions that comes with it; you will dismiss all the cardinals from the chapel by noon except for those two that will pray for spiritual discernment an and altar boy and a alter girl and a middle age woman will join with them evening and just that small group will make the selection before the break of the day.
Come and break bread with me and I will serve you a cup of tea
Wear something simple and comfortable for we will not ascend in the heavens, the universe has work to do and it is looking for people like me and you, so let’s begin before the day is through.
Plant wisdom in your head and walk with courage in your feet and the architect of the divine will make selection complete.
the creation tells a vivid story kind was born naked in their form with blood dripping at their feet.
The Golden Years
We celebrated the years with so many memories, birthdays, funerals….
As we took a stroll through life and archived all the memories we had featured
With these golden years
We reflected on our retirement after we met ourselves as employees working well with the passing of age
Our pasts made choices for us including our lifestyle activities
And those choices included low activity, poor diet and a high alcohol intake
Realizing how hard it was to fight this process
Every day was a repeated expression of events as we looked around and took an inventory of the average senior human being
We lived good lives now that we had bad knees, hips, need stents, hearing aids and more which the middle age will never understand
We had counterproductive lifestyle behavior that are now affecting our health with choices made for us
And somehow with these choices came clinics we built with an assumption of calling it a health-care center having professionals assessing our average senior
We served with experience acquired throughout the years
These golden years drew us closer to a self-selecting population requiring a routine checkup preciously because they are fairly healthy
With these years a discovery of how rare our species are, made a realization of how precious our souls are
We were soft, sensitive and had a lovely gesture and we never lost our shine even when we had wrinkles on our faces
These years awarded us the opportunity of earning leisure, a time to rest, relaxation and care without an obligation to maintain an economic level defining the young and middle age
The second wind painted images which made us fragile, superfluous and infantile taking away our powerful mental and emotional constitution, rejecting stereotypic impulses of others perception of us
With everything came time, wisdom, talents to others with an everyday affair of being treated with respect and we had the willpower to strengthen our lifetime challenges adjusting to loss and change of all kinds
Poet
Masego Nkuna
I went to her first gig at 16
Brixton academy, the new "emo" scene
I didn't know what to expect
But everything about the night was perfect
When she came on stage I was at the front
The awe I felt has remained untouched
I sang my heart out, jumped and "moshed"
The memories forever in my head and heart
I was a changed person after that night
I had found my community, being her fan felt right
I became "obsessed" as teenagers do
Vest tops and ties, straight hair and black eyes
I saw her again many times over the years
Met her 3 times, my name she remembered to my surprise!
Her music has been the soundtrack to my life
Everything I went through, her music my guide
I saw her again a few months ago
For 16 year old me the night was owed
I sang my heart out, but the jumping slowed
When I looked in the crowd I saw we all had got old
But it didn't matter, our lives aren't defined
By the age of our body, it's what in the mind
Middle age is almost here, she's now old too
But "what the hell" has never been more true
The people I met, the things that I did
All started that night, a life fulfilled
No matter my age, I'm still a "rock chick" at heart
Her music made me right from the start
Whenever I feel down or blue
Her music I play and sing out of tune
Moshing is done, I now need a seat
But life without passion is incomplete
When I play her music my mind is at ease
The inner child in me feels free
Life is for living, old age comes to us all
Just don't jump then trip and fall!
The girl in the mosh pit had it right
Laugh and sing as if it's our last night
To 16 year old me I say thank you
You chose the music that got us through
To the singer I say I would have died
But the music you made saved my life
I know it's cliche, but it's true
Her music is why I made it through
Things will change, things will slow
I guess that's part of getting old
Her music makes me feel young, it's part of my story
I'll still be rocking out when I'm 40!!!!!
we all have our ups and downs
enjoyed in lesser detail on the upswing
and greater granularity on the corresponding
and subsequent regress to various terrors
the trick is to not obsess and get conned
into the notion of a salvation delivered
by the hand of some Babylonian phantom
all you gotta do is put 2 and 2 together
though finding a 2 that is worth a nickel
could take you an entire youth and middle age
just to get the broken pieces lined up
into a mosaic resembling tomorrow
minus the short circuit spitting sparks
and the usual fluidity of meaning
which will blind-curse your attention
until all air has leaked from the safari tire
until a burst of ketchup feeds the dingo chorus
with a mustard happy face smiling bright
down upon the tree stumps and gravestones
and we all light our farts around the camp fire
to keep our metabolism from turning to Jell-O
allowing the completion of our assignment
to exceed every limit and come back alive
in my case they recovered a hand and an eye
after an encounter with an interstate hauler
freighting a load of maniacal rodents
destined for the blasphemous inventory
at mad Dr. Belknap's zoological mystery garden
Belknap perpetually mourned the loss of spring
funneled his urge for diemortality as he termed it
into a series of undecorous vocal exercises
that often and here found their way into print
but his laboratory marginalia were in tatters
contents time after time eroded away by betrayal
a price placed by lot upon the head of justice
pegged to the free fall of every banker's dollar
making the shadows thick with ignorance
and the tapping telegraph's tremorous alert
arch culprit hopping the Cannonball Express
a Wall St. carte blanche under one arm
and a refrigerated carton of celestial telepathy
under the other in an act of subtle befuddlement
me and the banshee boys waylaid him
in the struggle from birth to now
and I wear his watch around my neck
so he commemorates every swallow
"Cast all your anxiety on God because He cares for you!" 1 Peter 1:5***
Stress anxiety***
I can really relate to this particular bible verse because it is one of my mental health symptoms' that has been rearing its ugly head recently. However I need to trust in the Lord with all of my heart and lean not unto my own understanding. Casting all of my worries, problems and frustrations upon the Lord who shields me under the shelter of his wings.
Composing either poetry or dramatic monologue, I still freely draw up the well of all of my literally inspirations, Jesus Christ! For his well is never empty nor does it ever run dry, and he faithfully promises to wipe away all of my tears from my eyes. Putting my thoughts into their proper prospective has also proven to be immensely beneficial over the past decades. I have been composing poetry either on line or by paper and pen.
Angry emotions***
Let's face the basic facts of the case before me. In the bygone days of my youth and middle age, angry emotions erupted like an explosive volcanic eruption frequently. But now I would rather write about them, and trust in the Lord Jesus Christ to help me to deal with them! Frustrations! Can become so pent up deep inside of me that they used to erupt! I would take things out on whoever just happened to be around me at the time.
"Whoever the Son sets free is free indeed!" Liberation come from actively seeking the Lord Jesus Christ. He is my Savior and Lord of my life."
Casting my cares upon Him***
By casting my cares upon Him, causes Him to bear my burdens. Because his yoke is easy and his burdens are light. If He can hold the whole world in His capable hands, He can hold all of my cares as well. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever." The same God who redeemed me by his precious blood on Calvary, can also take good care of me.
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
October 15, 2020