Long Omnivorous Poems
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What?
I hope you are not serious, my fellow mortal!
Not serious when you suggest that we should
Eliminate death.
How could we?
This is preposterous!
But if you are serious, tell me how could we ever
Exist without the Lord of "darkness?"
Come on,
Do not be surprised by my question!
It may sound illogical to you at first, but
Don't you know that life is based on death?
You don't?
How come?
Don't you know that for something in order to live,
Something else has to die?
Let us take the Lion for instance, can the Lion survive if
Another animal doesn't die?
Can an eagle, a python, a shark thrive if other living organisms
Do not fall prey to their voracious appetite?
Of course, they cannot!
Certainly,
You may think of the sheep or of any other herbivorous animal
That does not kill in order to live
But
Even they eat grass which grows because microorganisms die
And we, my dearest friend, being omnivorous eat the sheep along
With thousands of other animals to ensure our survival.
Yes,
I know,
You would tell me now that you wish to eliminate death
Because you desire us not to die but to keep on living!
Let me tell you something, my dearest friend,
If this is really the reason that prompts you to wish death's demise, you Commit the worst of crimes because:
First, you wish to condemn Man to unending suffering and
Second, you deprive us all of being reborn into eternal life.
You see, my friend,
It would not be good to eliminate death, for death is
Our liberator and our one-way ticket to immortality!*
© Demetrios Trifiatis
18 June 2021
* I was a ten-year-old boy when my father died on this day many years ago but still he lives in my heart and in my mind!
He is legend, folklore and for some reality,
an ape-hominid-like creature of many names;
he is Big Foot, Sasquatch, Yeti or wild man,
science discounts his existence, many believe,
six to ten feet tall,
five hundred pounds,
covered in brown fur,
a strong unpleasant odour.
The Indigenous people of Canada tell stories,
stories told of wild men living in British Columbia;
each tribe had its own version of this hairy creature,
who is said to be omnivorous and nocturnal,
very large eyes,
enormous large feet,
twenty four inches long,
wanders the deep forests.
Big Foot hunters have organized hunts in California,
gigantic footprints have been found in Bluff Creek;
miners in 1924 claimed they were attacked by Big Foot,
a Canadian prospector said he was abducted by Sasquatch,
sightings or hoax
stories, misidentifications
mystical creature
legend, folklore or reality
The scientific view is that there is no supportive data,
that many of the sightings and footprints have been false;
hoax's the newspapers have sensationalized on the facts,
but how can we reject the thousands of alleged footprints,
scattered over miles,
dismiss the witnesses,
the photographs taken,
the hundreds of stories told.
_____________________
April 17, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Chasing Footprints
Copyright Protected, ID 04-663-717-17
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Standard contest, Big Foot,
sponsor, A Poet Destroyer, Judged 05/2015
Second Place
The province of delayed gratification
Poetry is dead.
There is now no appetite for deep reflection
In this far from limpid pool.
Abhorrent is meditation
To the present lords of all misrule.
Carpe diem once was for the nonce
Its writ now runs for aye.
Omnivorous science depredates
The very bones of our being.
Gradgrindery completely disintegrates
The very heart of our seeing.
Dawkins' dogma aims to destroy the spirit
And we are not the better for it.
Thus shrivels the soul and all that resides there,
Are we but creatures of accident,totally threadbare?
Until economic Armageddon strips us of cultural shame
Our choice is but to shroud the flame.
Depredation must needs be followed by reparation.
And then that rara avis,the phoenix anew
Will rise from the ashes,bright feathers in view.
We will illumine our world once more
When the bright flame of poetry will once again soar.
One may see puffins and parrots
any hour of the week
both birds bear a big colourful beak
the former pelagic feed on fish
and live in large colonies on coastal cliffs
tho' monogamous collectively breed as a bunch
but with renown as the Atlantic sea clown
in Iceland several are served as lunch
the latter arboreal primarily frugivorous
toco being by far the largest
are opportunistic and occasionally omnivorous
to a few prudes it may seem unseemly or rude
and yet if they stick around they'll later get down
as their chicks are seen to hatch in the nude
these avians may fly high in the sky
have the same such things as two wings and legs
and of each species the female lays eggs
but that's where similarity does stop
one puffin can do more than toucan do
in more or less of a day
after mating its pecker turns grey
and without waiting its bill it will drop
It's wonderful~how some women's
shoes are delightful and feminine.
Yet women dress more and more
like men each day.
It's very sad in the USA, to watch
femininity quickly pass way.
Why wear pretty underwear inside
while dressing Paul Bunyan on the
outside?
Why get facial waxes, when a beard
and a mustache, matches your mannish
clothes and shoes?
What's the need for Dooney and Burke
expensive purses?
When sweaters your deceased grandpa
would not wear, you flash
with unabashed flair!
What happened to daughters who once
dressed as girls?
All have fallen and been totally destroyed
in a giant, omnivorous jean-factory world.
Why do sons and daughters dress like
fathers?
And why this fetish for masculinity?
And the crushing decimation of our
femininity?
January 24, 2020
11am PST
Now,
I was walking, all alone
It is better for me, I think so.
Better to think, to ponder
Could be an effort, in vain
Could be, I do not know.
Sometimes,
I do not believe myself
I am not at ease with the darkness
Creeping inside, with the
Diminishing light of the day.
Still,
Birds chirping, tree leaves falling
I could hear a voice of my yesterday
Mindfulness is always what I am striving
to achieve now, days and nights
Without mind, and a body outside.
And,
Things are obvious and swift
Too swift to grasp to reflect on
The definition is so narrow in defining
The borderline between friend and foe.
A thoughtless mind with an omnivorous body.
But,
Please do not try to infer a meaning out of me
Like my poem , I do not make sense, quite awfully.
Your trademark omnivorous stunts
Glean clean what minute remnants
Menaced graces do sparingly yield;
And take back reliefs heavens field.
Inclement rob your ravenous fangs;
Mowing to naught crumbs of bread
That divine hand her children gives,
Thieving sure bits with slyest tread.
And so at this apt o'clock fine:
Twenty minutes short of nine,
Soon coming date of May 2022;
I deal you an irrevocable adieu.
And whenever your urgings goad,
In attempt to re-hook my psyche;
These sad goodbye lines I'll recite
And at once renew my full dislike.
Keep every penny you stole,
Without remorse own it all;
In vain would I seek it back
And further lose safest luck.
Act Three - the nap
Naptime was uneventful. The girls didn’t show up. The dog snores. He drools. The pillowcase is a brownish, water stained, Picasso-esque masterpiece.
Act Four - table for three
Dogs are omnivorous, they will eat anything that hits the floor. The cat is more selective. It will use a single claw to remind him of its likes and dislikes. If it is rare steak the cat will use several claws and a paw to guide his hand from plate to gaping maw. The dog will pretend it is sleeping and drool in anticipation. If he opens a can of tuna he believes that the cat will have an ****** as it claws his leg. The three of them eat a highly protein(aka-meat)-centric diet.
John G. Lawless
©4/28/2023
Out of the bowels of the apartment come
the trivia of the past.
Old receipts pushed to the backs of drawers,
faintly accusatory,
records of money and passions spent;
Yellowed paperbacks made unseen
when new ones double-parked on the bookshelves;
Clothes swallowed by omnivorous closets,
CDs in cracked cases tugged into shadows,
gadgets, trinkets, and
other mummified delights
re-emerging dustily into the light
from the tidy rubble of a home.
Not like photos, those records of big things
making up the official, abridged version of a life,
these are the messy memorabilia,
leftovers from small doses of happiness,
each a reminder of
a moment in time when we were lifted
from the rut of days, and
cheered,
solaced,
or moved.
Now all assigned to the “OUT” pile,
to be shed
before the movers come.