Long Onset Poems
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Even though days of life lived with
(all my children now grown) ail
ling soul of stifled for want of indulging
in ordinary experiences bewail
ling deprivation of accomplishing
healthy milestones regret a cold detail
reminding me as aging process speeded
as if an onset of late progeria fail
lings in this once skinny as twig youth,
now thinning hair bothersome - hail
yes (suspected cause underactive thyroid,
blood test will confirm), a jail
unseen by anybody even me finds spontaneity
bound from within this male,
whose counterproductive antics sought
to compensate for lost time did imp pale
and figuratively crucify myself at the
emotional expense of "star student" rail
ling (recent time gone by), thee (to her)
unforgivable hurt, the stuff of a true tale,
this papa does resign himself unintentional
misery untraversable unbridgeable gulf
the expanse of a yawning Rhode Island
sized Leviathan whale.
oh...thank you for the Trader Joe's gift card
this dirt poor mortal doth leave ye
with his cumulative loving re:guard
aware hiatus of estrangement (FROM ME)
the sad story of my life with mom, dad,
two loving sisters, who tried so hard
to reach out only to be rebuffed, as well
Abby, Eden, Shana deserving of so
much more joy...sorry girls dada starred
and created in his own living nightmare -
alone in a wilderness more bleak than Siberia,
within a solo battle pierced by my
own Damoclean Sword!
Already the month
of August 2018,
May never become
a je June'm
(Forget-me-not)
time of year,
especially for nouveau
homeless and,
penniless residents,
(now more like worrier),
who reside in the
(burnt to a crisp)
Golden State where,
towering uncontrollable
wild fire infernos veer
really did tax mental,
physical, and spiritual
oye vey iz mare (to
the bajillion power
of Google Plex) their
heirlooms, mementos,
and trappings of
das kapital lifestyle
went up in smoke,
which tragedy didst seer
the eyes (yes, iz traumatic,
but also the air)
looms with toxic
particulate matter,
though concerned former
propertied owners
(now ashen faced)
as utter grief doth rear
a scorched (bumping) ugly head,
yet the onset of Autumn,
(and the main
purport of this poem)
(oh my dog, that twill be
in approximately three weeks,
when Eastern Orthodox Church
denotes beginning of ecclesiastical
annum mull house
for straight or *****
(these times opening
doors to LGBT, or GLBT
(an initialism that
stands for lesbian,
gay, bisexual, and transgender),
nonetheless history
replete with app pear
chock full of factoids such as:
September (Latin septem,
"seven") with near
exhaustive steeped in
pagan glory of antiquity.
Ancient Roman observances
for September include:
Ludi Romani, originally celebrated
September 12 - September 14,
later extended to
September 5 to September 19.
In 1st century BC, an extra day added
in honor of deified
Julius Caesar on 4 September.
Epulum Jovis held: September 13.
Ludi Triumphales held: September 18–22.
Septimontium celebrated September, and
December 11 on later calendars
September called "harvest month"
in Charlemagne's calendar.
September corresponds partly to
Fructidor and partly to Vendémiaire
of first French republic.
On Usenet, September 1993
(Eternal September) never ended.
September called Herbstmonat,
harvest month, in Switzerland.
The Anglo-Saxons called
month Gerstmonath,
barley month, that crop
then usually harvested.
George Washington Cole
1827 – 1911
So here I sleep.
Buried in this dirt.
Covered in this earth.
Returning to the dust.
Finding heaven in the whispers of the wind.
And as for all my friends here,
All these stilled silent voices of Clark Cemetery,
We represent just a single sand pebble
Just a minute solitary dust particle
In an ever expanding infinite universe
Of shadows and scant tracings.
Travel to any city or town in the United States,
Or any sovereign country on Terra Firma,
And you will find the endless names of us,
The dead,
Who lived and died since the onset
Of the Gilded Age of Bessemer steel.
And those endless lists of the dead are nothing,
Nothing in comparison to the endless lists
Of the by-gone personages before us,
The past generations,
Who breathed and sighed and spasmed
Since the onset of Eden’s first heartbeat.
My friends, we are all so small,
And so minuscule.
Does it not behoove us to dance
Even while the music plays?
Does it not behoove us to be kind,
Even when the cruel day
Finally slaps us on the side of our faces?
So here I sleep.
Buried deep in this forgotten grave
Just a whispering shadow of a former man
Awaiting with bated breath
The blare of the last trumpet!
Mists show vaporous idiosyncrasies
emotionless crying
over the essence of the dull sky,
same as a gentle walking unsophisticated steed
embrace a forceful nature,
delicate yet totally vulnerable
With the onset of twilight
the impiety appeared to be oddly astounding,
there was no witless snarl
and it's a smooth tone,
predawn conceals
quell the loco share of color moods,
Starlings rewind their impeccable wings,
early mooring paths for a sailboat
through wildly shifting flights,
a measurement for rating sight
for slowed down dreamers
When it got dull
fall into the stream
In a swarm of happy tones,
utterance grows softer and deeper
Grin impersonates amazing harmony
marks the epilog of a tranquil day
the gleam of the evening,
woven into an unending blanket
Inward supplications
go to close justifications
as the embedded kiss creates
everlasting recognition,
apex moans calmed the room
for a couple of moments,
underneath a shelter of trapped gems
Written: September 16, 2022
BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
I imagine relief while feeling comfortably numb...
anesthetized courtesy central air
analogous to gulping down
a tall glass of ice cold water,
which equals ultimate thirst quencher,
especially for those
experiencing onset dehydration,
the following poetic opinion/editorial
shared by yours truly, a former consumer
who quaffed truckloads sugary and sports drinks
found mine once sculpted baby boomer body
undergoing gender reorientation, particularly
nondescript breasts incrementally found
busting (rivaling playboy bunny chest)
necessitated this garden variety
NON GMO gluten free husband
"papa," an endearment
addressed by the missus
puzzled when her
brassieres went missing
loathe to believe what sounded
like cock and bull story
embarrassed, yet finally
relented into pestiferous
inquisitiveness hen pecking wife,
she stood agape, after I dare bare
unclothed upper torso revealed
floppy, limp biscuit sagging
sorry excuse for bosom
hence necessitating yours truly
to resort as partial crossdresser,
yet never foreseeing
anatomical morphology transforming
(analogous to mushroom popping up
following bucketloads of rain)
thus went cold turkey,
(as attested by this gobbledygook)
to swear off high caloric non nutritious
popular beverages
(generating bajillions dollars),
and additionally forced non chipper infowar
i.e. internal three ring circuits
uncivil insurrection
(a tad more'n eighteen months ago)
as weeks elapsed months
(this unplanned resolution
dated June seventeenth
two thousand twenty two),
discarded over the shoulder boulder holder
in tandem with exercise
few times per week
alternating plying twenty pound dumbbells
and exercising viz pedaling
(quasi bicycle) machine
a pronounced reduction
saved me big bucks
undergoing cosmetic (Liposuction) surgery!
The walls open their eyes as
the mantids begin to weave
a loving celestial vibe, incensing
the onset of this boundless drive
Not questioning if one will retain
sentience, escaping for a time
confinement within her hive
machine-like serpentine's
propel mega metallic craft
exerting complex, magically carved
oaken ores
opening dimensional gateways
ascending straight-through
intensified vibrational planes
utilising the great wave
unlocking these secret doors
Fantastic crystal-blue eyed
gnomes with iridescent feather
shaped cheekbones perform
a dance, whilst oscillating
their elongated gold spoons
Traces of a nameless ancient face on
innumerable orange-pinkish moons
within vast space, divinely harmonised
eternally ringing out in high tune
bohemian rhapsody parades
amidst greensward moored
erupting profusely toward cerulean skies
ushered with invisible rip cord
this Earthling self assigned to an (elder)
box office catbird seat - hoard
ding a secluded nook
upon premises of Highland (highly adored)
Manor Apartments nestled
within bucolic (cost wise, a ford
double) Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
(40.2562° N, 75.4638° W) explored,
sans (founded in 1684)
pleasantly assaultive stimuli
conducted brake upon metaphysical ratiocination,
where sunshine poured
upon variegated mother nature
arrangement, viz spectacular
vernal suite scored
a top ten hit orchestrating
exquisite (August) May day presentation,
which mutely roared
bedazzling this sensate
being overwriting gourd
fully stocked, when brittle
winter snowy firmament forced accord,
asper overlaying habitat
palimpsest akin to (sic) ward
before an a may zing exuberant poly
chromatic onset splashed vibrant
brilliantly colored palette, toward
this captive observer,
where choral symphony courtesy of flora
and fauna sensational
encore performance
(day at the) opera captivated ensured
fixated this tethered primate royally
impressed and allured
by aural and visual
regalia fit for a lord
and tailor, while solar orbitz
directed by Helios,
whose journey across
deep purple celestial sea deplored
noiselessly casting lengthened shadows
signaling luminous hued dusk
chariots of fire earthly domed ceiling ablaze
pearl jam disappearance,
when daylight blinks adieu
til the morrow, when dawn
betakes the reins to reign cosmos chose
zing emergent rays announcing
morning haz broken
nudging, prodding, rousing from doze
well rested body electric,
where energy flows
as attested from me noggin glows
nsync, sans panoply
of soundgarden crescendo propose
zing ideal material sharing circadian rhythm
thru the time stream yours truly rows.
Written: November 24, 2024, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France
"Understanding yourself is the onset of all insight." When you wisely witness your worth, you wield wonderful power. When you welcome who you are, you become unbeatable. By Poet
________________________
In shifting sands,
I explore the depths of my world
where whispers linger like ghosts in the night
and the shattered mirror
reflects my inner self, puzzling parts of my soul
revealing my flaws, and the scarce grace of my bile
with fierce faith and moral courage
I strive to be a truth model, in my shared life.
I grasp splendor
near me, as I grow and reach light
yet, anger lingers, quietly looming
my heart remains mindful
recognizing ghosts that hover in the shadows
with positive steps, I plow my path carefully
word choice, form, frame, and warmth matter
and each breath I take adds to my inner brightness.
_____________________________________________________
Form: Crumbling Verse Created by Poetess Constance La France
The gift of life is a wondrous thing.
Before aches and pains the onset of age bring,
Feast on the glories, God has set,
In goblets filled for man to taste.
Fill your heart with the elixir of love.
Champion the cause of peace as your vow.
Act in the Present and look up with hope,
For it’s the magic that fills up every cup.
Wipe a tear and bring some cheer,
That sure will leave you truly dear.
Make the weary feel that you care,
And lighten the burden that they bear.
A glow of warmth when borne on your face,
Adds so much more to your innate grace.
So light up your face with radiant smiles,
And let your laughter ring down the aisles.
Nothing lasts ever, it’s wise to learn.
So why go crazy for so much to earn?
Worldly gains may add up to your fame,
But such transient things, your soul may defame!
Being HSP:
Sound drowns out sound, I'm found overwhelmed,
...there's a chaos that's building inside.
My thoughts won't relent, my emotions are spent,
...and my angst just can't be denied.
With lights that are bright, and pains out of sight,
...this souls ecosystem is a fragile thing.
Like I'm frozen in winter, set to shatter and splinter,
...desperate for the early onset of spring.
My mind has been had, so "Am I broken too bad?"
...the nagging question stirs from within.
But, don't fret for me, nor yourself you must see,
...this isn't where our story comes to end.
We're stronger than we know, don't cut yourself low,
...being what we are is a privilege to few.
With gifts we have plenty, and we're heartfelt to many,
...those who care know there's no one like you.
Some of this may not fit, but others do, you must admit,
...we all have our own strong proclivity.
With our rich inner lives, and on subtleties thrive
...we have imagination and creativity.
Some of us are wise, some are passionate, some advise,
...we are as beautifully arrayed as the stars.
We are empathetic, some artistic, while others scientific
...lift your chin, don't give in, own HSP, it is ours.
Your compassion is unique, with kindness others seek,
...Those who know you set you apart.
Don't regret these great gifts, your word it uplifts,
...people look up to you for your deep heart.
I must leave you with this, whether unhappy or in bliss,
...we are bigger than the weaknesses we see.
Don't forget that we're rare, with this trait that we share,
...I'm thankful that you're in this with me.