Long Parachute Poems
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With two hundred thousand dollars
and a parachute way up high,
Dan Cooper left the 727 he hijacked
and disappeared in the deep blue sky.
Somewhere between Seattle and Portland
the only American hijacker never caught
landed either dead or alive -
the FBI and authorities know naught.
He bought a ticket under the name of Dan Cooper,
the media mistakenly called him D. B.;
whatever became of him and the money
remains today a mystery.
Some say he couldn't have survived the jump;
Some say they know he's been seen;
Some say he could be living in your neighborhood;
If he's alive, he got away clean.
The legend of D. B. Cooper -
A man who disappeared into airspace,
On November 24, 1971 -
Still an unsolved FBI case.
I have been trying to pen this verse since Friday night
But the words couldn't jump clearly out of my mind
I twist and turn erase and rewrite but my imagination
was stalled for a while and nothing was comprehensible.
You see everything I do comes naturally and my thoughts are organized uniformly
Whenever I write there is always a sensational passion flowing inside
I know what I am inspired to say but the rhythm wasn't going my way
The message was clear but something kept blocking my influential mind.
I rode away from the crowded space into an unknown territory
just to relight my imagination and appease the higher calling because it was mandatory.
I lie on the asphalted side walk and stared at golden sun above me
At last the words start screaming inside me and I shout them out on this page.
I have the road to myself racing up the exuberant street
Jubilant crowd waving and shouting harmoniously as the procession
move vigorously along the clear cut path speeding up joyous hearts.
At last I crossed the gigantic bridge, dismantling age old barricades
crushing the hateful scorn that hasten me from my bed before the break of dawn.
I watched the flamboyant crowd scaling over fortified brick wall
defying every constraints as I parachute through vacant highways.
Colorless traffic lights everything was just right, no cross roads
Just the sound of nature to rekindled my soul and the sound of music
pounding in my ear, multitude of them singing the highest praise.
I can see them waiting for me as I charged vehemently over the calm blue sea
echoing the sound of victory streamlined with a roaring passion inside.
I shattered looming barriers and break the tormenting spirit lingering by my side
The dark clouds suddenly darted away sweeping the shadows and misery of yesterday
I watched him exit through the empty highway sad eyes bilking at the crowd on the other side.
While destiny stands firm on top of the hill stretching out its potent hand
As she walked proudly and seized her long awaited victory.
I have the road to myself.
When the sun starts shining little longer
Perky, beautiful, round, yellow flowers sprout up
Being in deep love with the sun and its energy,
They appear anywhere even in small cracks of dirt
In gardens, behind rocks, on hillsides or on roof tops
On gleaming carpets of prairies and grasslands
With toothy green leaves deeply notched
Swaying merrily in spring breezes “Hello” say dandelions
Some call them pesky weeds,
Some call them stubborn breeds that never seem to leave
To some, they are edible herbs and treats
With various health benefits
Loaded with antioxidants, vitamins and minerals
Low in calories, rich in carbohydrates and fiber
After petals drop from ripen flower
Ball of parachute carrying seeds opens into a full sphere
Having rather gypsy feet after development is complete
Seeds of fluffy parachutes travel quite a bit
Gliding by air stream disperse to propagate
Turning into flowers after finding any little space
Charismatic, brilliant dandelions
Symbol of strength, optimism and eternal joy
Reminder to fight against adversities
And survive through challenges of life
While staying humble and upbeat
MAN’S LIFE
Man’s life:
The jumping out of a plane resembles
Right Into the arms of gravity’s demands
That anxiously pulls him onto the ground
As his prevailing destiny commands
No parachute on his back is to be found
For him to avoid the inevitable impact
So he must soon find a way to escape
Before all his hopes are really whacked
Between the plane and the ground though
A distance, short or long, to cover must have
That definitely indicates the length of his life
That no-one, certainly, has the right to halve
The drama of Man has though just started
As he has no command over his will
But the glory of his indubitable spirit
It makes him stand up and never kneel
He laughs at his own condemnation
And proudly declares: I am here to live
I do not care when my fall is over
Fear in my heart I'll never forgive
He begins enjoying his hastening falling
As he makes plans myriad dreams to fulfill
My works, with all his force, triumphantly shouts:
Even when I go, here they are going to be still
Thus Man victorious of life’s adventure emerges
Having beaten all odds and the fear of death
A monument is he now of wisdom and valor
Since never gives up till his very last breath!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
14 OCTOBER 2013
The world is one giant cake bowl staring at you until you grow old. It’s has its mischief’s and its tricks and pumpkin pie swirling in the dish.
You are going to bake a cake a day for all the hungry people far away; you will put lots of cream on top and cherry to form the dots.
You will sell it at half price to the merchant on the other side; he will order a million cake a day to deliver to the people living a thousand miles away.
The dollar is on the run and the English pound is hopping along, the euro is breathing fresh air and the Japanese yen is hanging on in there .
The Renminbi is as old as it can be and has high esteem for the American dream, it has been like that for more than three decades and there is no indication that it will parachute to the sky.
The cakes are baking, their appetite is growing and they need money so get it to them in a hurry.
If you don’t have it you have to print it and you will meet with your economist to guide you on how to do this. You will print a specific amount to fulfill specific needs around the town; you will do the calculation and set up a statutory body to prevent inflation.
You have got to open some international project and invest some of the printed money in long-term sustainability. Buy a town in Africa from the celebrated bush doctor and build a treatment facility center for the different ailment in the culture.
You have got to spend it in order to mend it and if you don’t have it you have got to go out and borrow it.
America is playing games, the dollar is not lame, they have plenty of it and you have to use the right play book to release it, the till is not dry, they have abundance falling from the sky.Zelinsky is a genius and he knows how to get the American dollar. America has the machine but Zelinsky has the dream.
America is a milking cow, milk is flowing everywhere so get your gallon bottle ready because America is going to make some people happy.
The Russian ruble is nuff but it cannot fill the hungry man’s gut, you have to have plenty of it to buy a decent American dish.
Get the paper on the machine under the guidance of the banking governor to fulfill your dreams. Just print what you need.
Flutters…
the butterflies, a parachute of rainbow light
leaping from her pulse, her blond hair buoyant
heavenly honeysuckle wafting, immersing him
the daub of a fresh strawberry on her lips
Whispers of mystery,
in the dank closet, a couple strands.
a lovely blossom under her précieux top
perchance a predicament?
Happenstance, he thought happily
had bound two hearts, a pair of bodacious lips.
sinks his knees into the mire, they shake
no Virgin Mary in his mirror, mere...folly!
2/5/2019
Bardenesque Poetry Contest
Sponsor - John Hamilton
Words: Wafting, Daub, Whispers, Dank, Flutters, Perchance, Folly, Happenstance
Précieux - from the French, meaning precious
What else can I do but prolongingly sleep,
Until I must tend to my own bodily needs.
What else can I do but secretly weep,
Until you show me how your heart bleeds.
What else can I do but feel this love so deep,
As I daydream about you being so sweet.
What else can I do but occasionally creep,
Wishing we could go back in time and meet.
What else can I do but walk up hill so steep,
This hill a metaphor of how we are far apart.
What else can I do but hope we can reap
From seeds I am sowing within your heart.
What else can I do, I rather take the leap.
I rather fall with you, I'll be your parachute.
What else can I do to ensure it's you I keep,
Please just tell me my love has taken root.
Sunday cockcrow nascent
aural essays reveal
laissez-faire raptures.
Enigmatic silken piece compost ushered in by
trenchant trademark tremulous signature.
Doe-eyed instrumentalist’s strident brass ensemble,
wakey wakey for the pier gazing loiterer whose blasé
sashay amble’s out of kilter.
Maverick antennae on a radio safari,
hawking hourglass heritage lodestone.
Closet Peter Pan’s astride transistor, literati goggle eyed and glued.
Silhouettes of wistful mint leaf tract,
navigating hoarse throat shellback allegory.
Earnest weekend welcome mat to madcap jester, laureate, bohemian.
Religiously the listener’s transported
from a humble tepee sanctum
to alluring levee inundation area,
far flung folly edifice,
nomad siren hymn sheet to mount Half Dome.
Long wave bounder in my dreams,
I limb skip oe’r fiction world simulcast entanglement,
snoop beneath rogallo-wing parachute in a Middle East plot,
“twin peaks” would be awestruck by this labyrinthine concourse.
One can flit invisibly round medieval black market cobblestone arcades,
ghost novelist’s ethereal penchant for pinch and pilfer retro-fit infringement.
Melting pot cinnamon dispenser, whiff stick fix antidote to kettledrum ennui
the blight of urban jungle setting and rural folklore.
Otherworld contortion with a shard of drama for magic carpet flight of fancy broadcast
Lineage derived from ancient epochs now assumed but for an inkling, icons I become with card shark sly booth legerdemain.
Maybe I’m that fictile clueless hiker, destitute, indigent
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecake - oh yum!
Hard knocks Methacton school alum
ofttimes finds ruing his fate
while squarely planted on me bum
disheveled and unshaven,
whereby gray stubble encrusted
with wayward synonymous days old crumb -
after wolfing delectable entitled treat
buttered fingers drubbing upon tabletop
analogous to playing a drum
oy vey, yours truly cannot believe
he ate the whole thing -
argh... my poor tum.
ALDI GIANT supermarkets
(within small radius of miles
from me Schwenksville, Penna abode)
sell delicious delectable treat
goading, inspiring, and spurring me
to craft poem essentially
patronizing manufacturer,
whose skilled food technicians
engineered absolute winning dessert
courtesy their natural born talent
schooled (most likely at culinary institute)
possibly supplemented insync
with advanced degrees
at other institutions of higher learning
after various and sundry
trials and error
concocting mouthwatering secret recipe.
Lemme use hypothetical situation
to accent chew ate,
how alluded dessert tastes great,
especially when rumble in tumbly
clamors for glorious goody
regarding appetite to satiate
unfortunately circumstances
force your truly to wait.
If (the following
constitutes far fetched scenario)
stranded on a desert island,
I after falling to Earth
when parachute fails to open,
weighed down by an excess of
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecakes,
would finagle an empty pie tin
to signal an SOS.
If left to my own devices,
(where you dear reader
would discover one humbug),
I would be forced to scrounge around
rubbing two sticks together
to create warmth
plus distilling oils -
derived from edible herbaceous plants,
whence I would ejaculate
(not prematurely) - olé
to sauté said greens with wild mushrooms.
The parachute cloud like a rainbow wave,
undulates up and down - a swooshing sound.
The force of a light breeze or a great storm.
Voices lifting and buoyant, glory bound.
Soft lilting lyrics with angelic glow.
The parachute cloud like a rainbow wave
spurs lightning sparks into expectant eyes.
Flood of pleasing screams cajoled to behave.
Holding on, parent’s hands on the cusp of time.
Ethereal friendships made in the round.
The parachute cloud like a rainbow wave,
undulates up and down, a swooshing sound.
The storm of toddlers underneath resound
with gleeful voices, stomping feet too loud,
but powerful - the joys and smiles, it gave —
the parachute cloud like a rainbow wave.
7/4/2018