Long Mind bending Poems
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Winter is a deadly companion to those of us
who stay behind. Spring is not guaranteed, only
a lonesome song, frozen on the lips of my
fellow crusaders.
The tip of the spear belongs to the "Ice Warrior"
Camouflaged under a dusting of snow, ink black
like the night or mind bending off sun glare,
always eager to send cars sailing and people
falling. I was one of the lucky ones...I fell
on ice and broke my arm.
I knew I would see Spring...first paying a
painful
toll. Political insanity mostly fills the front
page in Winter, the truth of those lost forever
to its treachery only whispered in the "B"
section.
Those of us who survive for one more Spring
and Summer bare a different attitude than our
fellow snow birds.
You'll see us standing alone among forest
wildflowers...or sitting quietly on a dolomite
boulder overlooking Lake Superior.
Oblivious to all but our grateful senses,
humbled
by
our
fragile
existence.
Minnesota Winter 2017
Still suggesting there is a place for some cricketing rhymes in these Testing times?
In the land of lengthy cumulus curiosity amazed by the velocity of the atrocity
The crazed ferocity of ghoulish foolish monstrosity which blazed across the ditch
Where Off his Head did bewitch on the pitch so quick slick should've got a stitch
For what it's worth pithier levity aptly sums up the rum girth of the mirth of Perth
Travis’s temerity, depravity of sporting gravity, severity of brevity of Ashes rebirth
No devil may care, hoping us coping rightful heir not moping at the Gabba, repair
Dare to dream in Aussies’ despair lair ending their frightful mind bending nightmare
Cheers to elite broadsheet peers who it appears our fears, sneers, jeers & nadirs share
Ignore more hackneyed score from seedier bottom feeder media on tour, Go All Square!
Life is unpredictable, often mysterious and mind-bending
as such we don’t often get the chance to write our perfect ending:
They met when they were eight years old and became fast and life-long friends.
Now, both in their 80’s, one of those lives was about to end.
One in hospice…eyes closed…the other teary-eyed.
One is barely breathing…the other is seated by her side.
determined not to let her friend go…not to let her die
before these two old friends have the chance to say good-bye.
So, seated at her bedside…hoping her friend could hear
she whispers to her all the memories they’ve shared throughout the years.
Memories from as far back as the day they met in school…
memories when life was joyous and friendly…
memories when life was cruel.
She’s not sure how long she sat there sharing memories of all their years…
all their miles…
and call it wishful thinking but along the way
she thought she saw her old friend smile.
And though it may not have been the perfect ending…
she smiled as she began to cry…
knowing for these two life-long friends…
it was the perfect way to say good-bye.
My life devoid of exotic adventure
(in fact...yours truly
never set foot outside the United States,
nor took to the skies, yes...how bore)
ring, the solitary endeavors,
not an onerous unbearable chore,
although (as mentioned in a previous poem)
this fellow rarely exits apartment door,
(particularly during biting cold),
fabulous grandeur tis mine to explore
thru (healthy escape)
by way of imagination fourscore
minus ten orbits completed
round the sun, and tapping
mind bending places galore
envisioning how a blind person -
nonetheless lamentable and heartsore
(more so since birth, this pupil doth ignore
versus tragedy eye will not site here),
no limitation to where this loner can soar,
which appears contradictory to previous
disclosures, yet revisiting said notion,
sans feeling tour
charred asper meaninglessness, a spore
germinated evincing clearly reassure
ring mine psyche, those select modes
engaging body, mind, and spirit for
instance exercise, reading/
writing, and meditation
with deliberation yours truly doth pour,
the entire heart and soul of
Matthew Scott Harris to shore
up sagging sullenness, yet though disheartened
at squelching interpersonal/social, mental,
and physical parabolic contour
of healthy development,
this fellow wishes he did more
class participation, dating,
fostering friendships/relationships
such ordinary human development that did war
rant raving about prior
disappointment, the decor
ration accrued, via strengthening muscles at core
of happiness from this
sojourner for truth...bonjour!
Caution taken (lathering
exposed epidermis with sun screen)
against harmful innocuous
rich (Times New Roman)
12 font ask tick sun yet sen sate)
refulgent radiant balm
unequivocal panacea medicinal luxuriant calm
on par with a old
sister wives tale remedy me late mom,
would magically construe
to alleviate home sickness qualm
post pledge initiation invocation befriending
Jason the Argonauts and Major Tom
dizzyingly zipping thru space
in search of the golden fleece,
(which acquisition
ranked as a no brainer)
which recollection, sans above exploit flashed
(at greased lightening speed) this peace
full May afternoon, a pitch perfect spring day,
one adequately oxygenated
air supply crowded house
legendary fete of the rising son momentarily
sol limb lee flared concluding with reverberating
(though decades elapsed
since fortuitous galactic heralded
world wide web panegyric
broadcast cosmos wide),
then with just as quick
memorialized recollection
prominently recalled,
said remembrance as things past
vis a vis denouement across Universe
with Poof! lifelong (black hole sun hopping)
capping achievement did surcease.
Ah...such blinding realistic provocation sparked
via pure imagination
upon one earthly terrestrial beast
Sunkist soaking raiment sequestered
within corner nook decreased
with onset of dusk, a mind bending
dreamy experience least
expected while nonchalantly fantasies take flight
basking (with robins)
in an angulated nook sky height
upon premises of Highland
Manor Apartment out of sight
from the buzzer (I may as well be
a million miles away),
thus poetic justice end trite.
Somewhere between the molecules
and neurons in my brain,
lies latent creativity,
between miracles and mundane.
Although of late, still sleeping,
wandering, adrift,
as if in need like watering seeds
to bloom its innate gift.
Itself to heights out of the night
and into light again,
somewhere behind the prefrontal lobe
a thought begins to spin.
Like a waterspout, a funnel cloud,
or a black hole in deep space,
yet smaller than a pinhead
with angels dancing on its face.
While it craves to know its master
and begs to be reborn,
as if it knows it's time and place,
and laughs with mirth and scorn.
Much like a clown, a trickster now,
hiding in the weeds, lying,
between my amygdala and medulla,
creativity teases me.
I know not where it's leading,
if any place at all,
but only know to listen,
to its faint, quiescent call.
That may lead to greener pastures
where wisdom's waiting there,
some little treasures I've been after
or perhaps, disaster and despair.
The only way of knowing
is to take the winding road,
inside my mind where love is kind
and thoughts that matter grow.
While listening to the wind and rain
or gazing on the Milky Way,
creativity unfolds like silver and gold,
and children lost in play.
As it rises, falls, expands, and stalls,
leaving all perplexed,
waiting for the moment when
another young bird leaves its nest.
And spreads its wings and learns to fly
and let itself be known,
to feathery flocks, sea, sky, and rocks
and wherever it may roam.
In this never-ending, mind-bending journey
of mountain peaks to climb,
for the creative urge to feel the surge
of Creativity in our minds.
Licia, A Mysterious Mind
A mysterious mind
You often do find
Is cluttered with all kinds of clowns
In your ear they speak
Quite often with cheek
And tell of your ups and your downs
Driving you mad
By being so bad
But without them, where would you be?
Those voices you hear
Are your friends my dear
Though controlling them can be deadly
Wishing to tell
How they give you hell
The run around with their demands
Every now and then
They rule your pen
Just to prove you obey their commands
It isn’t as though
They say hello
They just barge in, take over the roost
Where they get their prose
Only heaven knows
But the soup gets its comedic boost
Bawdy they be
Extremely naughty
Yet they have the knack with the crowd
With their crazy antics
Mind bending tricks
The reader’s soon laughing out loud
So please let them stay
Don’t chase them away
For the loss will not only be yours
Live and let live
So sister forgive
Those voices that this world adores
Figuratively tack one hundred
and eighty degrees away...
where joie de vivre underscores
poetic theme, no matter every day
brings gut wrenching tearful tragedy,
thee attention for heart warming
(powdered milk biscuits
of human kindness)
doth shyly beg to gussy
esprit de corps with elan
evoking a reddit ting, snapchatting,
or twittering blue jay
mood, cuz most everybody
(including your truly)
dislikes constant emphasis on may
hem, sans mindless
violent murderous sprees,
nor natural disasters Earth quake
king, viz flooding,
out of fires burning, et cetera
thus, a concerted effort
(minus con vol fluted
schmaltzy arpeggio piano play,
drumroll, or trumpet blaring),
where pomp and circumstances
(composed by Edward
Elgar) try to stay
bull eyes euphoria kvetching,
and uttering oye vey
spin upside down
with a yippee yawping yay
plus countenancing
only gloom and doom
will conclude myself tubby
a cynical secular nihilist
making the ghost
of Missus Muir, Friedrich
Nietzsche, and David Hume
come to life (at least
in my imaginary presence),
and render a meta
physical/ philosophical loom
by expostulating their
respective profound Kant
mind bending room
min nations, even prophesying
after a body becomes deceased
(whoops a slight
non lethal faux pas)
cremated or buried
(with victuals for the after life)
encrypted within a tomb.
Dave Crandall is a fella who is always in tune.
Don't believe it when they say he's crazy as a loon.
He's a vegetarian, so you might not relate
to the curious items that you find on his plate.
He loves to solve mind-bending math puzzles just for fun,
and whether you like it or not, he'll surely ask you one.
He's got the sense of a blow-up animal balloon.
His favorite thing to watch is a Betty Boop cartoon.
He likes black and white movies from nineteen thirty-nine,
and folk songs from sixty-two, like "kisses, sweeter than wine."
While these anomalies, you might not think are so great,
I think you will agree, he should gain a little weight.
Like dawn in heat
I am already slave to your loins
our impending collision
the meeting of body and mind
immanent
A gentle run of tongue
shimmers parched rims,
lost fingers are confused
with buttons and holes
Slowly fabrics are rent
falling to retire in shreds
letting shadow and light
rest on the fusing of our skin
The rod of your desire
is arched to my wetness
as buds tip your lips
my mouth parts
descending to my knees
your shaft slides down my cheek
discovering my mouth...
and the guttural sound of sin
A moving campaign
of desire, mind bending waves
traveled all the rooms with a view
unbridled hands, roamed
without thought of destiny
The whole of your intent
is rapaciously introduced to heaven
overwhelmed and conquered
I am now a lost continent
awaiting your next expedition
And suspended in
a pure vacuum of ecstasy
so exquisite it rests on my soul
I am imprinted for all time
... through the window
an icy breeze dimples my skin
and I lay in amber light
humming...