Long Mistaking Poems
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Pride goeth before a fall,
It shall be said, long after.
How well the phrase fits this Argive king,
Come far across the wine-dark seas
In his gleaming ships of war
To rape the wealth of other men's homes
All for the sake of a woman;
So it was said.
Here in the smoke of the ruins,
Behind walls breached at the last by treachery,
- 10 years' bloodshed not enough to have battered them down -
Troy's temples lay sacked and belching fumes for incense,
Then here he comes, blazing in bronze, puffed with pride,
To claim you, as his rightful prize alone!
You,
Whom even the gods respect.
Mad you are, blissfully so.
Yours eyes, flashing in your mantic states
See farther and more truly than those
Of any other mortal.
You know the things to be all too well,
For this you were cursed with a great gift of prophecy
Forever doomed to fall upon deaf ears.
But today the curse becomes the gift it should have been,
If to see a proud victor's doom
Riding hard upon his heels, he all unknowing
Be any comfort to the defeated.
He takes you to his death and your own besides,
Mistaking the darkness of your smile
For the resignation of the lost.
He bears home with you the fall of all his house,
Many a proud one shall join you both
In Hades' cold halls ere long has passed.
So bid your mother not despair
To see you taken and treated so lowly;
Bid her rejoice in your ravings,
Tell her raise the torch and call on Hymen
To bless and seal this doom
Which has been set to avenge your righteous dead
Who fell beneath these now so hollow walls.
Exhort her not to weep for her mad daughter,
Who, in being made concubine to this beast
Weds high indeed in final truth,
As through this match she goes to a god,
And he the one most truly feared.
The torchlight flashing
Like starlight in your rolling eyes!
Your beauty as you whirled there,
Absorbed in frenzied grief
Became a sight before which divinity trembled!
Your broken people smiled in pity for you,
Eyes full and dimmed with tears.
Yet it is enough, perhaps, for you alone to know
As you are carried off across the lashing seas
To the enemy land,
The flames of your dead city
Lighting the night's horizon,
Holding in your heart the bittersweet truth none would believe,
You commune with the Eternal,
Bearing gall and misery
To an arrogant fool.
"I Am Fire"
I am an all consuming one
overpowering any and all!
When I am spreading
and you're in my pathway
most definitely you will fall!
Everyone feels my presence,
nothing can escape my wrath!
Ashes and smoke
make everyone choke,
for those are my aftermath!
My flames, they dance,
they writhe, they soar!
They command the utmost attention!
I am alive, my color is red!
I'm beyond anyone's comprehension!
I dance and play on the surface of the sun!
There is no mistaking my light!
All I need is the tiniest spark,
I cause fright when I do ignite!
When people see me coming to life
eyes widen and fear takes over!
If I touch anything that's combustible
it's mine in time and moreover....
They scream, they yell,
they cry out my name,
my flames laugh with heated desire!
I am a mighty, fiery one!
I can be the unquenchable fire!!!
Strangely though
I am used to describe
many, many things in life!
From fiery passions, to flames of love
I am the catalyst for strife!
WHO AND WHAT CAN STOP ME?
Oh That!!!
I've only one fear I can't slaughter!
Take that away!!!
Don't bring that near me!!!
"DON'T YOU DARE COME NEAR
WITH THAT WATER!!!"
WTA-IV 3/15/2016
"I beg You, show me Your glory," Moses said
but God snuck past, back-turned, revealing not His glorious head
Moses didn't know they had to wait for God Incarnate, instead
for God's glory -- no mistaking!
“Glory to God...on earth peace, goodwill to men”
seeking the True Light, God will not refuse to enlighten
believing in His Name --Jesus-- Messiah! makes us God's children
His historic birth -- world-shaking!
Government rests on His shoulders -- electing
most thought, this is not the Messiah we are expecting
Theotokos, handmaiden of the Lord, accepted -- reflecting
Rejoice! God's angels -- partaking!
Each morning, let Christmas Joy bloom in your heart
He's the Reason for the Season on His Birthday, as a start
His humility overcame the world; Mary's Heart-- our rampart
her motherly prayers -- painstaking!
A shower of roses from Heaven -- promised
St. Therese wrote of Jesus asleep in her boat -- calmest
glorify the Lord's Name, sunrise to sunset, pronounced the psalmist
celebrate the Christ Child waking!
Offer roses to her, in all the bustle
do little things with love, to slow down the Christmas hustle
the Prince of Peace shows Mercy-- new each morning-- so stop the tussle
pray to avoid wars -- peacemaking!
Our rosaries offer heavenly roses
don't you want to please Jesus, Mary, and Joseph's noses?
Christ's meditation is even more face-to-Face than with Moses
to see His Face... the world's aching!
Reflections of pink, and gold on heaven’s floor,
a hint of memories that came millenniums before,
and the radiance of God’s glory, eying from behind the shore,
is a new dawn, for our taking!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inspirations for references:
~Christmas
~Psalm 113:3
~Isaiah 9:6
~Matthew 5:9
~Luke 1:38
~Luke 2:14
~John 1:9, 12
~John 16:33
~CCC 2308
~St. Therese writings
~Lamentations 3:11, 18, 22-23
~Divine Mercy Novena Day 5
~"33 Days to Greater Glory: A Total Consecration to the Father through Jesus Based on the Gospel of John" by Fr. Michael Gaitley, MIC (Day 1: A Prophet like Moses)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With Each Morning Poetry Contest
Submitted Friday, August 11, 2023
Deadline: Monday, September 11, 2023
Sponsored by: Martin Braun
She here elbowed past me stomping, pausing not (although me whomping
With her wildly swinging handbag – five kilograms, if not more).
Cackling brusquely in a lather, that I should her baggage gather,
She then made a beeline rather straight through to the bathroom door.
Bathrobe clad and I mouth gaping, a liquidesque and turgid score –
Heard I come from ‘hind said door.
Faculties mine then regaining, to the muffled sounds of straining,
Luggage lugged I by the armful ‘til it half covered the floor.
Having purged demons internal, emerged she with a stench infernal,
And disturbed wife’s rest nocturnal – sensed she had her mother’s spoor –
Thus awakened, hair disheveled, she exclaim-ed, “Oh my Lor-”
(At which point she saw Lenore).
Here, dear reader, I’ll acknowledge that I met my wife in college.
We did wed with an alacrity that left our families sore.
With them mostly, we’ve fence-mended, olive branches we’ve extended,
And with all have soreness ended, with th’exception of Lenore –
Impromptu Vegas nuptials ours ne’er pardoned she us for.
Forgiveness? She’d said, “Nevermore.”
Subsequently, every meeting, whether days in length or fleeting
Ever marred was by the vitriol that from her mouth did pour.
Our presence thus disdaining, we content were then remaining
Distant from her foul complaining – contact with her we forswore.
No truck had we had with her for nigh on twelve years, maybe more –
Hence the shock of her at door.
Standing there in hallway fuming, scent of ordure ‘round perfuming,
An entitled air assuming, my wife’s mother took the floor.
She in voice like squealy quacking, peppered with some phlegmy hacking,
Every dulcet tone it lacking, sounding like a wounded boar,
Claimed she an Ikean sofa that her ample rearguard bore –
“I’ve come to visit,” croaked Lenore.
Looked I to my wife in query (bad side hers on of being leery),
Wincing at what could be sheer emoted outrage and furore,
Said wife, “What drugs are you taking that would lead you then to making
The mistake you are mistaking in appearing at our door?
What dark, unholy, nasty, wretched reason came you for,
That you so defile our door?”
I am, for the most part, most scared to speak.
Not because I don't necessarily have anything to say,
My mouth, alongside the virility of my brain, just seem to like putting me in reticence
But even in the fortunate instance that my mind doesn't wander into insanity at the thought,
I would still seal my mouth with golden chains
I would let the raining consequences rust it more shut
Spoken so, one would think such strong speech flew just out of a god
But for very antonymous reasons, I decide to favor most and keep the unfathomable out of doom's way
Those reasons come back to one simple yet deadly proclamation
TRUTH
We'd think a civilization that's fought so hard to be globally accepted, respected
One that holds itself on such a high pedestal, you'd be condemned to an endless fall if one jumped
One that claims autonomy over every single living and non-living creatures alike
Would be open to TRUTH
To date, the ones who've foolishly let their intelligence get the best of them
The ones who, amidst idiotic and ignorant surroundings they had to endure,
Decided to venture into the world of TRUTH
Were shoot off the pedestal so quick one would've mistaken it for a god
And then they fell and fell and fell and fell so deeply some lived through their last breath, falling
And at last, all the unlucky ones got through to TRUTH.
It was another world, maybe infinitely larger, ethereally brutal, and hauntingly peaceful
Instead of oceans, this world materialized into one main thing: REALIZATION
Realizations like the fact that my brain is just protective
Realizations that my identity has reeked through mud so many times
Realization that it wasn't just mistaking it for god but that this god is the mistake
Because the truth is that this god never sacrifices
He wrecks havoc till everything offers oblation
Truths like these that would put some on chokehold
But I won't waste good air, getting to a point where the only thing I incite is murderous rage.
Realization that for most, it looks just like that—a void to be fallen into, a place to quickly pull away from a single
glance down
Here I sit annoyed by the cold
Hood over head
Fingers numbed by wind
and it just isn't sinking in
Moving on
Finding someone
else to call the one
I barely got over the first one before
and when I moved
on to someone new
their taken
I hate how bad my instincts
can be
But there is no mistaking
The attraction
That exsists
It's just your heart
Is somewhere else
Now who am I to come
right on by and try
to make you mines?
How jumbled up am I?
I see countless of
my friends
Sinking back into the same
old pair of gloves with holes
that only leave them bitter and cold
I'm not like them
All I want is a new pair of gloves
The warm and snug
The ones that hug
I have been searching for years
Oh! I just spotted the right pair
Yet someone else is wearing them
Aw man! I'm freezing...
I’m sorry I never fit inside the rooms you gave me.
The walls bent inward,
doors swelled shut,
and I mistook silence for safety.
I’m sorry —
I’m sorry for every quiet collapse you never saw,
for the teeth I swallowed instead of words,
for becoming a stranger in the house you built.
I’m sorry —
I’m sorry for leaving them in the dark,
for the sharp edges I handed them as toys,
for not learning softness soon enough.
I’m sorry —
I’m sorry for being her doubted light,
for suspecting every kindness, as undeserved as may be,
for ever thinking her hands could be knives
when they only ever stitched me back together.
At least you have the leather cut by my own unsteady hands,
and the thread pulled through skin and paper.
Every seam knows my fingerprints,
every sheet carries the tremor of being chosen.
Your words fall into them
like rain into cupped palms —
I hold them,
ink-wet and breathing,
long after you’ve left the room.
I’m sorry for the mirrors I broke on purpose,
so I wouldn’t have to see the face
I already hated.
I’m sorry for the jars I hid underground —
breaths I never let go of,
fragments of days I left unlived,
songs I hummed only to the dark.
I’m sorry I never knew how to hold quiet without smothering it.
I’m sorry I never knew how to hold noise without flinching.
I’m sorry for every time I confused love with survival.
For staying in wreckage,
because leaving felt worse than burning.
I’m sorry I called myself stupid before anyone else could.
I’m sorry I rehearsed unworthiness so often
it became a prayer.
I’m sorry for falling in love with character,
for clutching uniqueness like a life raft,
for mistaking rescue for belonging.
I’m sorry for the softness that terrifies me —
for flinching at gentle hands,
because storms were the only language I learned.
I’m sorry for being unreasonable,
for knowing it,
and still not knowing how to stop.
I’m sorry for every apology
that feels like an exit.
I’m sorry for how often
I’ve written my own ending in my head.
I’m sorry this sounds like goodbye.
I am of the past and present, of the today’s as much as yesterdays,
People of this world, ever changing of today,
Normal as well as weird a slave as well as a free man,,
stuffed with the stuff that is harsh and stuffed with
the stuff that is kind,
One of the cherished persons, the person, the person of many
the weak the same and the strong the same,
A child as a slave, An adult blind
and unseeing ,
A teacher as a leader, a student following their
ways trying to understand the complicated ways
of life,
A feather as weightless as air, a rock ever so heavy
dragging us down til the feather begins to rise in us
A girl as a women, a boy as a man making choices
ever forgiving, sometimes regretting, often mistaking,
A shirt as ever covering, a naked body as a blank paper
covered with own stories of every person , struggle, choice
covering our life under clothes
A Father as protector, a mother as angel ever looking
out for us with arms grasping to us and eyes open wide
to see
A son as a child, a daughter as a child listening learning
to deal with the life in which we are handed
A hand as a tissue, a foot as a stepper, wiping tears
with the backs of our hands trying to stand our ground
but sometimes falling farther down
Comrade of jocks and outcasts.. Comrade of individuals
standing for themselves, living their life
Comrade of complex and simple- comrade of everything
Different, changing
A friend with drama, a enemy with plans,
A beginner trying of new things,
Of unknown info and unclear thoughts and new problem solving,
though trying
Not of the After Life but of the Living or
those surviving ,
A killer, gay, or a slave … a doctor, straight,
or a free man
A sadist, drama creator, outcast, loving person, or popular.
I don’t take life for more than I can take,
And live the days as if today is my last day;
And continue on til my time.
The caring and the heartless are in their places,
The pain I can see and the pain I can’t see are where they will stay
The life I live is the life I will live
Friday night will bee our night for dancing
Humble was exhausted after his first week of work.
He had helped people before, here and there,
But today it seemed like on his back he carried the Earth.
His body was aching, there was no mistaking,
It had really been a tough week.
So he would toughen up, work harder next time;
He could no longer afford to bee weak.
The life of a drone seemed quite simple from a distance,
But the reality was you covered a lot of distance.
Flying around all day searching for the nectar
And you couldn’t have a day off, no matter what the weather.
There was always more pollen to collect,
So it was not a job Humble could afford to neglect.
The hive needed nectar, so every day he would look far and wide,
And on every flower head.
He worked on his own, but there were plenty of other drones,
Who were usually looking around the same plants.
So the days went quite quick, you did your bit
And at the end of the week, you went out to dance!
Humble was so sure he would meet someone he could fall in love with,
As soon as he went in and sat down, guaranteed!
But although his friends were there and he had a good laugh,
He saw Bee-Real meet his new girlfriend and that was that.
Blondebee had lots of attention from another man.
Tiny Dancer was dancing with yet another bee.
Aw man! Thought Humble, everyone is happy but me man!
And that night he walked home, a lonely little bee.
And so it continued, each week the same;
No love for Humble, he felt so lame.
Even Prince found a girlfriend and he never even spoke!
Humble thought this is beyond the joke!
The next week Bee-Real bought his girlfriend with him.
Lovebee was her name and she had a beautiful grin.
One night Tiny Dancer and Blondebee shared a kiss,
But Blondebee told Humble, it didn’t mean a thing,
Because he was the one she really wanted to bee with
And so, like a fool for love, Humble dived right in…
Blondebee soon became Humbles first girlfriend…
Is this where the story ends…?
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Why does the heart get all the credit for love?
By so-called affairs of the heart,
that most storied of organs is not unduly inconvenienced.
It beats,
now faster, now slower,
that is all, its task ever unvaried.
But the brain.
The brain is swarmed
by a scream of consciousness,
the amount of work that lands on its desk
swollen by an epidemic of incoming data
as body-wide receptors caffeinated by intimations of love
report frequent sightings of
unexampled beauty followed by euphoric contacts.
Every signal, real or illusory, is taken into custody and interrogated
to determine its authenticity or duplicity.
Every word is a code that needs to be deciphered with a
clear-eyed detachment it can no longer muster.
Every look is transferred to the left side
for facial-contextual-inferential analysis but often hijacked by the right
for the purpose of aesthetic appreciation.
Every scent is identified and catalogued with
a perfumer's olfactory precision.
There are hints to catch,
spats to be postmortemed,
crucial dates to be inoculated against amnesia,
preferences to be recorded, compared, grafted,
model answers to catch-22 questions drafted,
declarations of adoring allegiance crafted.
The subject’s mind is apparently required to be read,
two sets of past, present, future to be crossbred,
blindness to other females pled.
There are virtues to exaggerate to divine proportions,
flaws to modify to virtues with willful distortions,
desires to mollify by counseling patience,
thoughts to be felt,
feelings to be thought,
vertigo to be fought.
Still the to-do list grows,
the repairing of an attention that no longer spans,
the mistaking of what happens to millions of others daily
as a unique personal miracle,
the confusing of being loved with being special,
the projecting of an untested passion into an eternity,
the steadying of feet that has taken to walking on air,
the murdering of ballads meant to be trilled,
and the admonishing
of that nonchalantly speeding heart
to be still.