Long Neglectful Poems
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So, I guess a 12 year old
American brown male playing by himself
with a toy gun
is outside your boundary
for normal early-adolescent activity.
Well, I can see why you would need
to draw your boundary
for healthy rationality
outside his grassy field of fire-armed play.
I can see why we need to draw this line
of "only predictably SWM domesticated life matters"
the way we do
to look our friends and children in the eyes
while saying,
"I can accept this loss
as one caused by an unfortunately timed
dual act of accidental wildness;"
But is it not significantly wilder
to fire ballistics at youth
than for youth to fire only ballistic imagination?
I can see that we need to doubt
reasonable risks of public recreation
for some lives
differently than other lives
and times
to gaze into our social-cultural mirror
with both eyes
fully comprehending compassionate integrity:
"We accept that Black Adolescent Lives Splatter
loss across our leaking shared loves and livelihoods,
thereby wilting our collective mental health,
starving our social wealth for future regeneration,
and yet hope we still dream
of somehow re-transposing,
All Lives Matter
in current US ReligiousRight culture.
Now that is egocentric mendacity;
not even Anthro-centric integrity.
We each and all must hunt our way
toward facing our fear of ourselves
our lack of empathy
and mind positive passions
and body healing pleasures
surpassing our neglectful lack of fully activating
Win/Win panentheistic wisdom.
Some hunting ways bring further AnthroSupremacist
Business As Usual
cognitive-affective dissonance;
further failure of Earth's polycultural integrity,
further degenerative ego-traumatizing stasis.
Some hunting ways promise more co-operative co-arising ballast
for culturally active hope.
It is this ballast we seek
between our self/other-reflecting eyes,
hoping to discover peace within as justice without,
and not more enslaving reductive addiction
to ballistics of overly-automated violence
Silent souls
full-will impassioned pleasures
without sufficient time to assess full-intent,
responding to fear of fear ourselves,
right between our blindered eyes
So it becomes challenging to see
a brown male playing by himself
with a toy gun
as well within our mental health care boundary
for normal early-adolescent activity.
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking the trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt is the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion for poetry shrivels on its vine.
Withering like a flower, my empty heart
has stripped my soul of its craving to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings.
They thirst, and their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorse and regret.
That mocking voice invaded my aching breast,
when again, it ridiculed me as a fool...
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task.
You should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken, drowning in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only drums in rhythm to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered.
Parched and dying, drying up in a field of grief.
While I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
into an abyss, my fingers charred in a fire.
I can only water the seeds of self doubt
with salty sweat from my furrowed brow
and over fertilize them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds reprieve, a relief.
I've tried to save them all, or was it just
a half-hearted attempt made in vain?
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain.
I'm suffering from loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and praying that I be forgiven.
For the folly, I've only myself to blame,
this pillaged poet.
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt, the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion flower shrivels on its vine.
An empty heart has stripped my soul
of its craving need to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings,
their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorseful regret.
That mockery invaded my aching breast,
when it ridiculed me as a fool;
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task,
should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken and lost in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only beats to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered
dying of thirst, drying up in a field of grief,
and I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
and must retire.
I've watered the seeds of my self doubt
with salted sweat from my furrowed brow;
over fertilized them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds a reprieve in relief.
I've tried to save them all,
but half-hearted attempts were all in vain.
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain
and suffering loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and pray that it may be forgiven
for my folly, for I've given it no choice.
I've only myself, this bereft poet, to thank.
Written January 24th, 2021
Judged N/A 2/22/21
Contest Open Poetry !
Great transitions became part of human experience
after we gave up on daily nomad lifestyle,
perhaps too bohemian
to have ever actually existed
out of nutritional nurturing choice
As contrasted with necessity
of drought,
floods,
pestilence,
famine,
chronic wars,
climatic absence of healthy peace.
Great transitions
are choices,
positive more than negatively motivated,
to move from one habitat
in space and/or time
to another
that feels more promising,
worthy of trust,
a potential celebration of interactive beauty,
holistic balance,
resilient health,
aesthetically resonant wealth.
Great transitions
have their inhale stage,
before the moving Team appears,
which includes hard and soft decisions
and indecisions,
memories,
and rude reminders
lacking acquisitive memories
about where did all these properties come from,
external
with their internally complementary feelings
of way too much stuff
in my cluttered life,
Happiness to be bringing warm memories along
and sadness to leave so much cold
and neglectful waste
behind the dumpster
And great transitions
also have their less famous exhale stage
after the moving Team
moves on
to facilitate another household's preferably Great
but sometimes Traumatic
Transition.
Great transitions
in second stage
open one box at a time
to reload new closets
basements
attics
garages
sheds
shelves
entertainment centers
dress drawers
treasure chests
jewelry boxes
safes
mailboxes
kitchen and bathroom drawers
cabinets
medicine cabinets
CD and DVD racks
soundtracks
shoe racks
pot racks
wine racks
over the door hat racks
behind the door spice racks
tool racks and peg boards
hangers
umbrella stands
coat trees
bird feeders
pantry shelves
under the oven drawers
armoires
desks
hutches
book cases
curtain rods
picture hangers
linen closets
nightstands
pillow cases
guest beds
Great transitions
never die
they just fade in
to what remains of yesterday
Sufficient for this new age
of rebecoming
habituated
co-acclimated
seeking a healthier climate,
a wealthier place
for healing uncooperative
lack of felt resilience
To survive
and hopefully thrive
into our next Great Transition,
inhaling into recycling lungs,
exhaling out into greener
more resonantly resilient
Great Earth Habitat.
Oh my goodness!
I was just thinking about Erik Erikson,
psychoanalyst and essayist,
and his social analysis thing
about the U.S.
stuck in perpetual competitive
in-grown
culture-ungrown adolescence.
And Erikson suddenly reminded me of one of my dreams last night.
When The Donald
and a few black-suited security robots
visited AllSouls sanctuary.
I was singing in the choir
to the choir
as white-privileged usual.
But, when he slurped in
our ecofeminist minister
invited him to "Grow up!"
"Stop acting like a junior high
military school bully.
Let go of the golf clubs and take up surfing.
Have more fun
without passing your unpaid bill on
to already unhappy
un-privileged
depreciated ungreat over-populations.
Go back to private life.
Learn how to actively love
and healthily entertain
your own family
with Win/Win non-violent communication games
and organic garden planning
and integral Permaculture Design practices,
and cooperative ownership,
and compassionate self-management.
Try appreciating (not depreciating)
some health/wealth organic farming property."
"Go back to school
and learn some basic Win/Win community health-organizing techniques
for non-violent resilient communicating
with what you say
and what you listen to
and what you do
and what you choose not to do
still matters to EarthTribe's future healthy outcomes."
"Stop pretending to be a Win/Lose adolescent
still trying to remember your Win/Win hopes and dreams
when you were just out of your EarthMother
gasping for your first in and out rebalancing breath."
"I am not your disappointing mother!
We are not your emotionally neglectful and inaccessible parents.
Stop punishing us
for not worshiping the ground
your Win/Lose ZeroSum soul walks on."
"Do something that might make us want to worship the ground
we walk on compassionately together."
Then the security robots started snickering
right there in our Green AllSouls Sanctuary.
And then Donald did too
as he turned around to actually blush
(who knew!)
and a bit less slurpily exit,
just like a teenager
slouching out
almost the way he came in,
Except smiling through his blushing Win/Lose eyes
not just his Loseconomic/Losecologic
health-depreciating
critical-noneventful fake-smile mouth.
Religious,
and perhaps all pedagogical traditions,
are variations on a creation story theme,
both rooted in, and feeding on, multicultural evidence
of faith in polyculturally expanding
mental-crown/physical-root
therapeutic resonant wealth/resilient health-integrity
Fruit of Holy Spirit/Nature co-arising love/life outcomes,
actively loving trusted truths
with peak experienced sacred beauty,
and or diverse
more monotheistic Truth v polytheistic Beauty
fundamentally monoculturing,
monopolistic,
colonizing
abusive and neglectful
demonically dispirited
dissociative ideation,
irreligious actively distrusting trauma,
unnatural,
dis-organically disorganizing
rabidly anti-womanist
homophobic
racist
and anti-spiritual idolatries.
Metaphysics,
religious and scientific and aesthetically woven creation stories,
are bicamerally reconnecting
mindful trust and sacred body beauty
of humane EarthMother
indigenously polytheistic faith
in FatherSun+EarthMother
prime enlightening+empowering
ego/ecosystemic
inhaling/exhaling
informing/exflowing
positive wealth/health co-relationship.
Faith evolves an external landscape cultural projection
of an internal co-empathic landscape
empowering neurosystemic inclusivity
and economically ecological
re-connecting
co-arising peak inter-religioning gratitude,
and degenerative dissonance therefrom.
Gratitude
is a Basic Trust
aptic-empathic response
formed through the experiential praxis of agapic love,
tribal integrity,
RNA/DNA synergy;
the Holy holistic gestalt
of becoming ReGenerate Issue-Identity Awareness;
original intent of deeply enlightened co-gravity's bicameral listening
for healthy WinWin self-identity nutritional opportunities
with diminishing LoseLose risks through decomposition of WinLose networks,
internal and external.
Sociopathology:
My problem is that I am not the center of my universe.
Sociotherapy:
My solution is to perma-multi culturally reintegrate
within our shared universal (0)-soul center,
each moment,
each thought within time,
each relationship between times,
each resonantly resolving development
of EarthTribe's ecologically unfolding time.
I'm holding your letters, here in my hand
Each word is wrapped in cursive swirls
Of trembling, eloquent, handwriting...
You shared your life with me...
A gift of yourself, like little grains of sparkling sand...
Slipping through my open fingers
But, it's only now.... that I fully understand...
They were small chapters, and stories....detailed accounts...
of a picture you framed,
a flower you grew, a morning of mauve,...
a dress you made, a puzzle you solved...
or the rains that quickly came, then disappeared...
A little life, a simple day, so quickly came, and left....through fading years....
Snippets of a life that seemed unremarkable, too easily dismissed
Until you were gone.
Until I missed you...
Until I began to realize
that I wouldn't have a second chance...
another day, to pay closer attention, ...
to ask more questions,...to show more interest
to look deeper into your eyes,
those eyes of experience, clarity...
kindness and charity...
so filled with the wisdom of age
....before the page of love had closed....
Your caring, ...your patience,...your understanding....
That in my neglectful ways,
I thought would always be....
These letters I hold in my hand,
ending with words of love.....
that perhaps, I didn't really deserve
That only now, I've truly heard....
By Carrie Richards
______________________________________
LOVE'S PITIFUL REMNANT
(THE MIDNIGHT MIST)
Fragrance fading, clutching in the dark
A hint of her scent, past memories spark
Sparks ignite, on my heart's kindled floors
Until they explode, and a fire roars
Torrid flames rage, till torrential rains -
Contain the fires, as my body drains
My head seeks sleep, and my body feigns
As reality, quivers, and wanes
To the Midnight Mist, I drift away
Where dreams will always, find their way
Where souls seek out, what hearts have missed
For all that’s needed, prayed for, and wished
There I found her, in the past we shared
Before stone walls, left heart's impaired
Before the death, of the love we swore
And the sacred vows, our pride through tore
Where hearts only love, and are never mean
Stone walls crumble down, and can't be seen
And all the love, that was sadly missed
Was waiting there, in the Midnight Mist
Her eyes met mine without hurt or despair
From all the years, of neglectful care
While all the love, that each of us sought
Hearts' still cherished, and hadn't forgot
As her smoky lips, to mine finally neared
My skin shuttered, as goose bumps appeared
My eyelids closed, as desperate lips kissed
And our hearts found, what they'd sorely missed
Tightly in my arms, my cold heart warmed
So filled with joy, a teardrop formed
The tear escaped, and raced down my cheek
Shattering the mist, as they formed a creek
My eyes now open, but in darkness alone lie
Dazed and confused, and wondering why
Her pillow in my arms, fragrance fading fast
Breathing through it, to make a memory last
Love's pitiful remnant, I hold on to – and weep
Her memory awakes, as my mind drifts to sleep
In my arms, till the mist, my tears again sever
Loving her always, till the end of – forever
Where there is malnutrition, let us provide basic human resources, for the poor and the destitute. Where there is insufficient: clothing, shoes, water, housing, education, and job opportunities-let the world community take the necessary actions.
Where there is talk of: ethnic, religious, sexual cleansing, let us hold those responsible accountable for their crimes against humanity. Where there is talk of warfare among the nations, or ethnic groups; let us preach and practice world peaceful harmony.
Where there is sexual and human trafficking; let us put an end to such human miserable mistreatment. Let us provide freedoms to the captives. rehabilitation, moral, ethical and spiritual guidance. Housing, education,and employment opportunities.
Where is talk of domestic violence against people, and property; let us provide the necessary intervention, legal action, and restoration.
Where there is talk of warfare, and violence between hostile nations; let us hold out the olive branch of reconciliation and peace. There are no winners or losers in the game of warfare, only its hopelessly defenseless victims.
Where there are crimes against the natural world and the animal population, let us be a voice to those who have no voice. Let us defend a world unable to defend itself. Let us not just fold our hands and walk away. Let us not fail to acknowledge the problem. by the failure to take affirmative action. Let us not follow in the neglectful footsteps of the current United States' presidential administration, of Donald Trump!
There are so many issues facing the world community, they are not all addressed here!
Love as always!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
RoxyLea1954
June 27, 2017
10/17/16
Back to the fundamentals
It's been happening worldwide, continental
Wilted leaves and healthy flower petals
Amid Large boulders or tiny pebbles
Among soft to hard metals
The rain at times may be gentle or torrential
Call it quintessential
Way before fishing vessels
Or the use of any mortar and pestle
Since the dawn of time, it's been rather elemental
Regarding anything existential
Some things were on purpose or accidental
On my shoulders an angel and a devil
Is with what I wrestle
Times may get stressful
But If you want to be successful
Focus on what is important, don't be forgetful
Or too fretful
Take some risks and try to reach another level
Buildings and bodies considered temples
Take care of what you love, don't be neglectful
Something special and sentimental
Sat atop a trestle
Eggs and animals with speckles
Humans with moles and freckles
Certain meals cooked with fennel
Or lentils
While using cooking utensils
With or without a stencil
Messages and art done in many ways, some used pencil
Near are far away from where very few or a vast amount of people settled
In some areas are plants like nettles
And many animals currently nestled
When we walk or run by an insect does the ground quake and tremble?
Files stored away classified as "confidential"
Sometimes just one or several
At times events occurred that were coincidental
And rather monumental
Many festivals
Where people revel
During a day so eventful
Materials and so much more being disassembled
For reasons considered scientific and experimental
Continually money being embezzled
In ways that are disrespectful and vengeful
By: Dalton Ogletree