Long Parsing Poems
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Not that you asked,
or ever would feel free to inquire,
yet perhaps you grow ready to listen
to a voice inviting exit
from your,
and our,
long loneliness,
self-contempt,
isolation so shelled-over,
so embedded,
you are sure we are each and all
unredeemably alone
In our envy of others,
the positive deviants
with apparently healthy organic
and resonant
and resilient relationships
While we remain powerless to conjure enough curiosity
to discover
and/or rediscover
our own win/win potentialities,
personal
and political,
economic
and ecologically regenerative.
Depression conjures
dark apartness messes
all your own too-competitive fault.
But, your depression,
emotional and/or economic,
political and/or environmental,
like my own,
is no more or less your fault
than is Donald Oompa Trumpa President
of all anti-ecological wisdom,
a new ungreen post-millennial oxymoron,
and Earth's algorithmic degeneration
into lose/lose fragility,
And privileged human SuperEgo's declention
disarray
dismay
despair into xenophobic rabidity
oligarchical madness
global depression
mutual suppression
liberally invested in every thing
but love,
curiosity
recovering win/win birth canal memory,
a magical moment of hope for Earth's warm light
of lifetime win/win recovery.
Your depression is your fault
only in this warm right-brain accompaniment sense
of feeling and knowing we are a fluid,
yet stuck, State
that is our shared win/lose fault
of left-brain dominating culture
parsing compassion stingily,
saving for glorious and
win/win right-brain interdependent
un-lonely Rapturous sacred end.
But, as every community organizer
and integral permaculture designer
and restorative justice advocator
knows from win/win v win/lose v loselose
retributive v restorative justice experience,
we cannot end a resilient health-building project
that will include
any and all multicultural win/win faith
if we did not embody already inside
as we began
pushing through our original organic tunnel
toward Earth love's first light
and unmuted sounds
of greeting,
warm accompaniment
universal co-present love,
Hope
faith in EarthMother's warm feeding breast
from whence we each compassion came
come
and go.
I'm stupid.
I've fallen for the same pitfalls
that I sighted in
the distance
and said that
I was too smart
I was too ambitious
my potential was too great
to fall for them
and yet
I've fallen.
I hurt everyone with whom I come in contact.
I use people up until
I'm bored
and then I discard them
and move on,
and then I cry
because
I'm alone.
I'm stupid
for writing this as a poem
because it's a really bad poem.
It's just proof
that I'm self-indulgent -
extrapolate that
and you've got the proof
that whatever I said in here
is true!
And on top of that
this is a first draft,
and I'm too lazy to re-read it
or re-format it
yet I expect you all to read it
and comment
or whatever?
So self-indulgent
as to press "enter"
every so often
and change this into some sort of semblance of verse. Maybe I only write this to prove to
myself, argue to myself, how awful I am, so that I can continue to act stupidly, in my own
interest, and use people up, less as an unfortunate event and more as "business as usual."
Wow, there's a lot of clichés in this poem! Oh well. I'm not going to fix them. Hey, aren't you
bored by this yet? Aren't you upset that you read this far? It's like I've sent out some sort of
sentry to do my dirty work of being an obnoxious, stupid individual when I'm not around to
do it myself. And see how I re-formatted this to not be in verse but to be prose after I
acknowledged how arbitrary the parsing the wording into verse was? Did I fool you, however
briefly, into thinking that maybe it was an interesting choice? Well, it's not! It's really an
uninteresting choice. See, I did put a little bit of effort into the spacing it into verses back
when I was doing it. Am I trying to bore you away from reading this? Why am I so self-
deprecating? Can I truly be so self-centered if subconsciously I'm trying to get you to not
pay attention to me? Is it self-conscious if I've acknowledged it? Wow, this has really fallen
apart. Oh well. Anyway, I'm stupid, blah blah blah, I'm the worst, but really, I do feel this
way, and am constantly lamenting (ooh, poetic-sounding word!) this fact. Otherwise, or
maybe notwithstanding that, this has been a waste of time for all of us!
New year's day 2021
Disinclination regarding tradition
to make resolutions stance
adopted courtesy yours truly.
Though such proclamation
may smack of high treason
no matter convenience to season
and ideal time to leaven existence,
I discern no rhyme nor reason
to make a promise unable to keep
whereby only disappointment I reap
inducing tears whether awake or asleep,
thus Matthew Scott Harris utters nary a peep.
as he doth vigilantly creep
along the information superhighway
hooping to sow (sew) what he didst reap
re:pair so I can strut (wool ewe bull eve)
like a Mummer wannabe counting sheep
while he does sleep.
E'er since Pope Gregory XIII effectively
(furnished, generated, and
instituted his holy mojo)
introducing Gregorian calendar
approximately four hundred
thirty nine years ago
chroniclers of time - mostly
religious Norwegian farming bachelors
casually referred to brethren as bro
ejaculated (sometimes premature) invocations,
which echoed across
Lake Wobegon, said incantations
devout followers among populace
did likewise parrot and crow
generation after generation
whereupon enigmatic, dogmatic, charismatic
monk native to Burma
stoked one after another ego
artificial construct did ebb and flow
amazingly enough maintaining accuracy
with marginal probability of error
precision parsing seconds, minutes, hours...
would only tolerate absolute zero
variation regarding prediction
of weeks, months, years...
as sophistication of civilization did grow
allowing, enabling, and providing
jolly fellow bellowing ho... ho... ho
could make his round the world wide web
timely trek linkedin with timepiece
assembled with B Corporation approval.
certification of "social and
environmental performance"
a private certification of for-profit companies,
distinct from legal designation
as Benefit corporation.
The above plug an unsolicited commentary
regarding San Francisco, California
based eco friendly and socially conscious company
and recent employer of eldest daughter,
an engineering University of Pennsylvania alumna.
Small, Medium At Large Units...
Define paradigm since time
immemorial does find
me defied, electrified, and generated
fascination within my mind,
despite spacious essence invisible to blind
people, or even those blessed to find
pointed laser insight more pertinent
when a visible beam shined
into infinite void of space,
where coordinates aligned
since humans stood erect
to measure existential blocks assigned
within very brief span that consigned
an average life on terrestrial
firmament more of a grind,
when omnipotent self importance
mandates no child shall be left behind,
yet unwittingly civilization dictates
everyone must be forcibly inclined
to synchronize, mechanize, and harmonize,
their every breath entwined
analogous to a pinned insect specimen
semi restricted to maneuver within
nebulous unseen all encompass
sing fourth dimension since...
my Neanderthal ancestors
huddled around protective hearth
yet,...no idea when,
(whether before
my conception, in utero, or at birth)
my noggin got gripped
with names woolworth
their weight in precious
gems or even salt
(steeped from legacy bygone ancient
civilizations) linkedin lightly
peppered planetary girth
various passages of time,
each mortal allotted on Earth
(measured in seconds, minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months...)
one season does leave,
and another one fall lows win touring
Santa's sleigh for those who believe
conveniently evinced as sands
slipping down humongous sieve
denoting reasons for joy or to grieve
and inquisitiveness attuned
when every stations broadcasts
countdown by Jeeve
parsing segments, not only prompting
objectives I did satisfactorily achieve
(during another orbit of Gaia,
when passage of time
signifying poignant heave
ho every New Year's Eve),
but really the entire ticking
tocking clock scaffold
poses as an artificial construct,
as well the jolly green giant
with one or another
expansive FLOTUS on his/her greensleeve.
Part Two
SEVEN STARK WORDS
Seven alliterative blockbuster words struck so
they rhymed initially in juxta-positioning lineal parallels
pausing but in the fourth
to resume breath in the fifth
Leaving the interstitial morphemes in resonating ellipses
The economy of your parsing has wreaked havoc down the ages
in all trans-explicatory tongues
Tough-minded men come from afar
with other gods to serve
and sacrifices to make in the name of their Lords
bent your versification to limp rhyme
and left meaning a hung pursuit
in the hands of plagiarists professors preachers
who
not knowing nor divining the reason for your craftsman’s
concatenation of weighted phonemes
advanced theories for your elastic pregnant mind
strung myriads of pages in exegeses
each staking a claim to posterity
the villainous hanging on your lips
In a time devoid of papered learning for the poor
When to be born a Sudra or Pariah was a sin
When masters were those top-heavy manically-mantric Brahmin priests
Preying on the duped loyal sycophantic Vaishyas
wishing to earn karmic merit with their agricultural gain at their altar feet
such servant-financers as they by legions now lay their souls down
as even the long-gone royally leisure-dispensing Kshaktriyas
how would he who sought the spread of knowledge
not seek to encapsulate learning in mnemonic couplets
arranged according to rigid design
for those who could not count either
Ten fingers in the hand so
Ten the number of facets of a thought
a subject
a theme
even if theme subject thought were stretched too thin
In crowded halls, ivy clad, walk the sleepless zombies - the walking dead.
They’ve come to grapple, the chosen few, in trials by pen and pencil too.
Long ago we quietly agreed to trade studies and stress for a lives of ease.
The fire of competition burns within, a pyre fueled by challenge and adrenaline.
We’ve been grinding from morning’s light to dark midnight, fueled largely by tasty caffeine's bite.
Sleep’s a distant memory, that’s been swapped for all-nighters, notecards and highlighters.
Professors who have taught us now plant briar-like, trickster-questions, to try and fraught us.
Have we synthesized it all - the labs, lectures and quotes, the chapters, quizzes and notes?
The hours we’ve spent, dissecting texts, parsing equations, crafting essays - pay off now.
Or don’t - the clutter of fact, theory, and tensors will separate the scholars from the pretenders.
But fear not, dear reader, for we’re tough, seasoned cowgirls and this is just another rodeo.
True, we chew erasers not tobacco and ride desks or lab stations, not bucking broncos.
But some are thrown, bruised and scarred - finding their future careers discarded.
We’re required to hand-write our test essays out, a trap that negates AI with age-old foolscap.
We know the challenge, we’ve studied and crammed, to tackle the hurdle of ‘top-tier’ exams.
Beyond the stress beacons the sweet release - of holiday parties and presents that please.
But perhaps the sweetest possible tease, is the promise of slumber and weeks study free.
.
Webster: foolscap = a piece of paper
Parsing time
Along the slope he leant
with his caved-in shoulders
not standing on end
one foot upturned
the other curled
a shrivelled cucumber sole
Which way did the past go
past the point where the wind turned tail
behind the shadow of curling light
or the precession of Mercury
If you see your tail swish
before any hint of thought could wish
How do you know if it did
If you didn’t see it topple the intent’s lid
Many the whisper of a word
will come calling in untrod chasms
by the waylaid tongue
Whose the nameless parole
the lexicographers culled
for want of another word
or two
If time travels in an unflat trapezoid
Which way will it be going first
Your way
My way
Or that away
Time is not Time
If it didn’t travel
Time then is unrealizable motion
What doesn’t move of its volition is dead
Time masters all life
If you kill every being on earth
Destroy every trace of every particle
On earth as on every other sphere
In this universe
or heavy dark matter
Likewise on every parallel universe
Time will go berserk
Running trapezoid wild
in every direction
for it’ll have nothing to relate to
Yet it’ll be the solitary inhabitant of the Void
Calling out to itself to void the Will
For it’d have had a past
A body to call its own
And you cannot kill a body
Which does not exist in Time
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2012
Came from Baltimore by Pigtown
Where they like to lay the law down.
He rebelled against the ground rule.
Had to grow up in reform school.
Got acquainted with a curveball
Dealing pepper by the church hall;
Broke some windows, but he left the scouts impressed.
He was an OG All Star, and a first draft Hall of Famer.
He had manners like a gomer, but he played with no disclaimer.
Pitched in Beantown, till they tossed him.
They’d regret they ever lost him.
Joined the Yankees as a slugger.
Jumped on southpaws like a mugger,
Shooting rockets past the flagpole.
Fattest wallet on the payroll.
Made a called shot, and the papers did the rest.
He went from zero to sixty lodged in Murderers’ Row,
With women, booze, and money all just part of the show.
He led the A.L. in hitting.
Chased after ta-il, no quitting.
Played ring around the bases
In a dozen pennant races.
He scored doubles at the wet bar.
Belted homers before radar,
And suffered his publicity’s intrigues.
He was an urban legend; no one ever saw him on TV.
And in the house that he built, there’s a tribute to his number three.
It was series after series.
All the bookies have their theories,
Parsing records and statistics,
Charting sinker ball ballistics,
But in the end, most everyone agrees:
He never had to play the N*gro Leagues.
I came across an old McGuffey's Reader the other day.
Let me endeavor to tell you about it if I may.
Seems in days of yore, educational aims were more sublime.
Political correctness had yet to reach its querulous prime!
Rife with exercises for forming a solid education,
It was used by teachers and scholars for many a generation.
Between its covers were many down-to-earth stories,
Telling of the value of adhering to time-honored mores!
Can you imagine, it even mentions God a time or two!
Everything was written with a moral point of view.
The book taught that upright living was the thing to do,
If a happy and successful life was to ensue!
Copious exercises taught pupils proper articulation,
And great stress was placed on correct punctuation.
Among other things in which they were drilled to excel,
Was the parsing of words and how to properly spell!
I'm not too well versed on what today is taught in school.
Seems, tho', it wouldn't hurt to espouse the Golden Rule!
I would be willing to bet my very last dime,
That it might even help to reduce the teenage rate of crime!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Dedication to Service
Rather, whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant, whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave. Just so, the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and give His life as a ransom for many. Matthew 20:26-28
Today’s lesson on serving others can be found in the life of St. Katherine Drexel
Born into one of the wealthiest U.S. families of the 19th century
She could have lived an extravagant life inside the world of rich and famous
The young heirness might have chosen to be a chief benefactor parsing out
Sizable donations to good causes
Yet her understanding of the Good News led to a different choice
St. Katherine dedicated her life to helping those most in need
Her outreach stretched across the country as she embraced the mission of education
Most notably building schools for impoverished African American children
We are each born into different circumstances with variety of gifts
Most of us are not wealthy
yet we have an equal opportunity to live out this lesson of service to others.