Long Pack of cards Poems
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It was a sudden grim tragedy,
That jeopardized lives and safety,
With neither a tremor nor vibration,
An edifice came crumbling from the foundation.
Like Titanic ship it came sinking suddenly,
Like pack of cards it came crashing all at once,
People died and got buried alive unexpectedly,
Under the dust and debris all at once.
This is more than a pandemic!
It grieves my heart and left me saddened
That forces unknown wield such polemic
Against mortals and are divinely unrestrained
Could it be there was no safety inspection,
To detect the frailty of the structure,
To check for a crack in the foundation...?
Oh, may it never happen again in the future.
Dear Lord, to the deceased grant pardon
That their souls may find eternal rest
And to those they left grace to bear
In hope that they are saved from eternal grief
The old dog got a bit long in the once powerful teeth
Crushed his fangs on carrion left by the rest of the pack
Pack of cards delivered by being
Pack of lies suspended in truth
It was time to gather wounds scars and loosening grip
Maybe a new trick here or there on his visit to the tomb
Tomb of words written in anger
Tomb of scripture seeking resolve
He came to settle under Buddha’s levitating canopy
Put a fig in his mouth and tasted life’s intricate journey
Journey of illusion dispersed onto time
Journey of rest conveyed by places of comfort
Just out of sight but in contemplation and mounting doubts
As he minded himself he gazed upon a rusty barrow’s wheel
Wheel of Karma forgotten at peril
Wheel of fortune bestowed by grace
How he wished to be complete and deigned by composure
Fallible imperfect merely normal and at peace nevertheless
Less longing pacified in weary soul
Less adjudication clouding tranquility
When he took of his loin cloth and stood naked and stark
Reflected aberrations and fear a vulture caressed his skin
Skin full of hardship impermanent and mortal
Skin tattooed with ink and smouldering ashes
Prey and predator became one as shadows grew longer
He kissed the scavenger and blessed his parched tongue
Tongue of voices competing for insight
Tongue of deceit croaking temptation
The corroded buggy turned into rickshaw and palanquin
Floated on the river and embraced a path of reprieve
Reprieve from agony depression and void
Reprieve from the suffering of all suffering
He never found that intangible metaphysical wisdom
Abandoned his search for mystical philosopher’s gold
Gold never needed for making honest amends
Gold buried with a pot of tar oozing compassion
21st January 2020
Slow Frown
The curtain is down the show has found its final vibrant glow
Lights out minds provoked and the audience is still waiting for
Godot
He arrives which is a surprise and yet he hangs from the ceiling in
A show-down of souls while a vacant spectator shouts his Eureka to
Arche-Midas
The last act touched him deeply and types of paradigm refute what is
Not meant to unravel as everything turned into gold’s wicked curse of
Obscurity
Absurd a theatre of obtuse legends finds its angles and perspective
As observers compare their bits in the lavatory after the performance’s
Show down
Slowly seeds germinate take their path to freedom in lonely pursuit
‘Am I the only one who got the point of reverence' in meaningful
Pointlessness
While revellers ponder about the poignancy of washing their hands
Cleaning their thoughts with sugar soap from Becket’s arsenal in
Vanity
A jester smiles frowns slowly at existential essence when he throws
A pack of cards down onto empty rows randomly aligned on baseless
Foundations
Sometimes we all miss the grimaced façade sheltering the clown’s
Valid conclusions but the spectacle continues not down but out of
Nowhere
Hattie L. Rogers
1844 – 1917
The playing cards of life are a stacked deck.
As soon as you begin to breathe
You begin to die and disintegrate.
All of the winners in life
Eventually end up the losers.
You enter this Big House with nothing.
Nothing but a cracked soul, a cursed heart
And that stacked deck of crooked playing cards.
Your destiny, my friends, lies in the dust.
So I figured early on, like King Solomon,
That there is no use; it is all futile and hopeless at best.
When I came to this sad realization
About life on this staggering planet,
I decided the only worthwhile meaning in living
Is in finding true happiness,
Even in the midst of hopeless despair.
Even in the midst of this mocking gaping graveyard
That lusts for flesh and blood
Like Odysseus’ giant with the one eye
Like a carnivorous Scylla, hiding high up in its dark perch,
Up there in the insidious shadows,
Awaiting another human meal at noontide.
So, what happiness did I find in my 73 years?
Years that seemed to fly by like a hummingbird in April.
I found ineffable joy
In the phenomenal nativity of my twin boys.
Found indescribable ecstasy
In the tender embrace of my loving husband,
Found incomparable elation
In the survival of my children and grandchildren.
Living descendants, you are always welcome to loiter at my grave.
Bring a pack of cards though.
I am always up for a new ante.
I see three doors before me.
The one to the left is blue, a beautiful lupis blue
with ornate lacework in its center.
Parisian-esque, it looks likes an entrance to adventure
and inspires me with its sophistication.
I imagine inside the rooms beyond that door
exotic curios on shelves along the walls
or tables heaped with charming little treasures.
My muse’s curiosity is sparked!
The middle door I see is that of a welcoming house.
Beneath two large rectangles of decorative glass
hangs a straw wreath adorned with festive flowers.
A friendly-looking white lab sits in front of this door
and on each side of it on the old-fashioned porch
are two pots of pretty geraniums.
I imagine beyond this door friends and family
gathered around the kitchen table
finishing Mom’s delicious apple pie
and preparing to break open a pack of cards
or sit beside their fireplace, playing charades
or perhaps singing along to a guitar.
The part of me that longs for warmth of family
lingers at this door.
The last door I spy
much farther away and surrounded by trees
is a light green door blending in with nature,
unadorned and not as high as the first two doors.
Were it a bit smaller and round, it could almost be
the door to a hobbit’s cottage.
A bower of vines spreads around it
covering the brown bricks of the house,
and a short cobblestone pathway leads upward
to this simple but interesting door.
I know that if I open it and wander in,
solitude will surely greet me, a solitude so sweet
that when I shut the door behind me,
I’ll leave behind the stresses of my life.
I will have entered another world
where I can rest and meditate. . .
perchance to write.
I look back at the first door, imagining the thrill
of discovery. Its charming blue entices me.
Then I return my gaze to the second door
from which warmth and empathy exude.
I redirect my gaze to the third door. . .
Which do I want more?
New experiences? Intimacy? Peacefulness?
Creative inspiration could reside behind all three.
Which one do I choose?
Which one would YOU choose?
March 28, 2017
for the Doors Contest of Anthony Biaanco
It’s Simply Magic
It’s just a little bit of magic, to enlighten your world;
It’s just another illusion, to fool the boys and girls.
It’s just another magic hat trick, with a rabbit inside;
It’s just another cut the woman in half trick, where nobody dies.
Because it’s magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply another confidence trick.
Yeah, because it’s magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply another confidence trick.
So if you want a magician, to fool the kids,
Then just give him a call and he will come and use magic.
With a pack of cards, or China’s Great Wall,
He’ll show you the impossible.
Because it’s magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply another confidence trick.
Yeah, because it’s magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply another confidence trick.
I think you’ll like it, not a little but a lot.
He tries his best, to put on a good show.
His bag of magic tricks, hide the secrets he’s got hidden
And how he does it, nobody knows.
Because it’s magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply another confidence trick.
Because it’s magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply magic, that’s all it is,
It’s simply another confidence trick.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Towards the thaw
As the days of spring are here, I should be happy having made it through the winter. The April breeze brings regret, remembering what had been pushed aside, no, I was no mother’s favorite son
Recalling every detail, overthinking every word said, reacting with angry silence as a defense to hurts felt as a betrayal. No, I was not a sweet boy happily playing in a backyard with a toy
The spring breeze also tells me of an ending, my doctor’s remark of scaring bathers with dark blue blotches on my white body, it is like the process of death has begun when still alive
My anger keeps me going. I was dealt a pack of cards and did my best, bought the small blue houses on the monopoly board the affordable ones. I have no regrets and wait in silence