Long Partial Poems
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I don’t know if there’s a God,
But I still prayed we’d not be seen,
That night we scaled your neighbour’s fence,
To steal their trampoline,
In the halflight the elastic,
Shone like a lacquered animal skin,
Stretched taut across the beaten frame,
Held in place with rusty pins,
Sat there crouching in the darkness,
Like some huge primeval beast,
Yeah it sat there like a drum,
As our souls slapped a beat,
Put me in mind of Three Blind Mice,
Or God Save the Queen,
Or The Rhythm of Life,
Pulled me closer when the net,
Became an oil slick in the rain,
Said whatever souls are made of,
Yours and mine are just the same,
Well I’ve never like clichés,
And I don’t believe in fate,
I’d prefer you to quote Hardy,
I find Austen quite passé,
But there was something in the way,
That you could spin a phrase,
Yeah when you shaped them with your mouth,
Those old words seemed newly made,
You said,
I’ll live my life according,
To the fortune cookie sages,
And glossy magazines,
With their astrology pages,
We can chart a route to China,
And sail by the stars,
We’ll earn ourselves a name,
In brothels and in bars,
Yes we will make our fortune,
And we will find our fame,
In a place where they write danger,
And opportunity the same,
Well I’ve never been to China,
Couldn’t quite see the attraction,
Why fly halfway round the planet,
When there’s sun and sea at Brighton?
And I never understood,
Your peculiar gravitation,
To late night establishments,
Of a dubious reputation,
With their smoke and smut and chewing gum,
And soggy Carlton coasters,
And air of desperation,
And karaoke posters,
Full of ugly men and women,
Making ugly propositions,
You say ‘perfection is a fault’,
By way of explanation,
And claim that there’s a quiet glory,
In decay and all that’s grimy,
And you’ve always been so partial,
To the charms of ugly beauty,
Then sang,
I’ll live my life according,
To the fortune cookie sages,
And glossy magazines,
With their astrology pages,
We can chart a route to China,
And sail by the stars,
We’ll earn ourselves a name,
In brothels and in bars,
Well they’ll never see it coming,
Our touch will leave them changed,
Once we’ve finished with this world,
It will never be the same,
Oh once we’ve finished with this world,
It will never be the same.
We constantly deal with poetry which puts us in a soporific state,
we sit here apathetic to the cause of studying this beautiful art-
but Poetry’s breath Ad Nauseum about love and laments is bad for a date,
oblivious to the images, while attempting to turn the key we begin to depart.
Yet the door haunts us, novels, plays, yet poetry is the apex,
of this ethereal mystery within the maelstrom that is our mind,
alas this frustration is focused upon the conundrum of poetry being complex,
is it just a condensed novel, this Herculean Task of understanding the undefined.
There are many who deem poetry obsolete but tis rather far from its nadir,
now begins the unequivocally splendid power of the imagination-
hidden by poetry from the vituperative invader,
who’ve made an egregious mistake in deeming poetry a partial differential equation.
Imagination, oh what a beauty long forgotten in the age of reason-
we’ve been given Hobson’s choice, force fed Occam’s razor, given epitome-
yet good ol’ imagination persist like an excretion,
from the eyes of the true daughter of time, Science’s proficiency.
People assume poetry is the modern day Gordian’s Knot-
well- let us assume this is Utopia, were Imagination runs wild-
as she watches her forest, a black cat surreptitiously passes a man in thought,
startled because it is Friday the thirteenth his Triskaidekaphobia- this is all rather mild-
Just the tip of the iceberg was touched upon, just the tip-
Poetry and humanity is an oleaginous affair we mix but do not blend,
Or should we, poems are nothing more than what we put in, as if to dip-
just our toes, before we plunge head first into poems so as to apprehend.
Poetry is the Sun, as you are the flowers shined upon,
given warmth of knowledge and power if you are to just reach.
Not to let Poetry in as if to catch on-
give it back in your own form of speech.
Through your own imagination feed poetry,
It hungers for your reality, though not reality-
procrastinate not- hopefully,
for your conceptions are your sanity.
Or rather is fancy your sanity- decide,
it will affect your observation of poetry forevermore.
It will excite-
whether you believe it to or not- you will love or abhor.
Poetry is not arduous -
just do not assume there is a secret door.
In fact poetry is quite virtuous-
Seek only what you can give poetry, I do implore.
I was rather informed on definitions but on time frames, not so much. I was anticipating an experience never realized for more than 150 years. The sun, moon, and earth were orchestrating one giant and rare exposition. When I heard that a Supermoon was coming on January 31st, I said, "This I got to see".
I, a mortal with a far lesser task, did something very wrong yesterday. It was absolutely unnecessary and wrong for me to get up before 2:30 AMPT. It was simply too early for me to be gazing at the moon on a chilly winter's morn. Moreover, such unnecessary and inexcusable time was just wrong no matter what. I also did something very right yesterday, and it wasn't yielding the 'right of way' to a wrong way driver. It was courageously right for me to get up early this morning, and accomplish my goal because I refused to be denied seeing a Supermoon.
At 2:28 AM, the moon could be seen from just outside of my front door, looking straight up into the western sky. It was not as large as I had anticipated but very bright. Besides, I would soon learn that I was too early and I was in for a little wait to really benefit the best show of the Supermoon. At 3:55 AM, I noticed a partial eclipse beginning to take shape. At 5:50 AM, from my back window, with excitement I beheld a Redmoon. At 6:18 AM, there was a great view of the eclipse. At 6:49 AM, the great view of the moon is breaking up. At 6:54 AM, the veiw of the moon had disappeared and my moon watch was over. 02012018 PS
A Message from My Mother
In a dream I saw my mother welcoming guests into her home.
She had been expecting them and had been busy preparing and organising everything.
She rushed to greet with open arms and led the way through the hall and into her rooms.
She didn’t see me or look at me at all as I watched, a silent witness.
Her guests followed fully assured that they would be looked after, at home in her presence.
Knowing just what to say she turned to speak, words I couldn’t hear, words that weren’t meant for me.
As she spoke she smiled, and as she smiled she turned, her hair revealing some of her face.
She looked youthful and happy, but that’s not what grabbed my attention.
The most amazing beautiful soft white light radiated from her face.
Her face, her skin, shone translucently.
‘Now I know what an angel looks like’, I thought.
Again she turned.
Again I was granted the grace of not only seeing my mother’s face again but of witnessing all God’s love emanate.
No star could shine as bright. No angel could compare. The depths of this light went to Source.
O Joy! A glimpse again, only partial but always the same white softness and depth.
'In God's house my mother dwells.
She welcomes all her loved ones and leads them home.
I look forward to the day she looks my way.
.... my mother, God's Heavenly Hostess'.
by Jean McLoughlin
Winning Second Place in Nayda Ivette Negron's "Angels" Contest 1/1/2016
A Note from the Author
In this poem I describe a dream I had about my mother who sadly passed away many years ago.
But what I don't mention is that I had this dream the same night my Auntie (my mother's sister) had a tragic accident and passed away soon after.
My Nanny (my mother's mother) and another Auntie (another of Mum's sisters) who had been suffering from cancer, had just been buried.
My mother was the oldest of 12 children and this poem was passed to all my relatives to let them know that she's there waiting to welcome them.
I take great consolation from knowing that I will see my mother again.
My mother opened the door that night, not only to her guests, but to my writing as well, as this is the first thing I ever wrote.
It was written in loving memory of my mother and her deceased mother, brothers and sisters, family and friends.
Thank you for reading.
From Jean
Where once verdant rolling highlands...
Spanned into infinite vista
far as these myopic eyes can see
now yellowing Whitmanesque
leaves of grass encompass field of vision.
Nary a dark dreadnaught cloud in sight,
nor unbeknownst if/when threatening storm
looms on horizon slaking parched land
delivering precipitation quenching thirsty terra firma.
I too experience vicarious dehydration
during bonafide dry spell
constituting theoretical string
hoop fully curtails weather beaten
flora and fauna
conceding blindingly bright
cloudless summer days
across disc (sky)
to amply liquidate shriveling assets.
Unbeknownst when spate of rainlessness,
(i.e. I pray for moderate soaking precipitation)
thwarting immediate indications
meteorologically signalling onset
regarding definition of drought.
Nothing more humbling
than cacophonous thunderstorm
nsync with jagged bolts of lightning
accompanying drenching downpour
analogous to downed wall of water
cascading from upper atmosphere
intermittently pelting landscape
albeit immediately, magically, quixotically...
transforming parched land (Highland Manor)
into profuse lusciousness
harkening Edenic denouement.
Impossible mission (this simple bumpkin)
(one local Schwenksville yokel)
(Civil War union soldier incarnate)
to forecast today/tonight
eventide of June twenty fifth
two thousand and twenty,
when Zeus will doctor
animals and plants courtesy
of requisite life source
also known as H2O,
comprising above mentioned
two hydrogen atoms
and one oxygen atom.
Ironic, how approximately
three quarters (seventy five sense)
engulfs planet Earth,
yet many environments
suffer inadequate deluges,
more so now with climate change
(global warming) increasing temperature
across oblate spheroid
compromising habitable places,
yet methinks coronavirus (COVID-19)
gave mother nature
much needed reprieve
cleansing heavily polluted urban areas
courtesy partial lockdown and restraint,
whereby *****sapiens
deterred, jackknifed, prohibited...
spewing noxious forth fossil fuel byproducts
encouraging, mustering,
plying, telecommuting, zooming
avast array of activities
augmented by virtual reality
technology supplanting mass transit,
thus diminishing deadly toxins
absorbed by all creatures
great and small.
-Dear, Mr & Mrs Poet-
Do you ever question where it comes from?
This poem's about you, sit down and get a load off
Tranquilize your pen, take heed to the ecstatic applause
The things in life we take for granting, in time get worse
From WHICH' our lives transverse, ascends a deep poetic curse
You write almost everything, rehearsing every living verse
Embezzling words, like Martha Stewart, ---NOT YOURS!
Withdrawing from your substance,
--yielding it to others, who aren't devoted lovers
Spacing your lines, ready for reader's digest,
Educating the mind, like Albert Einstein
You paint a different horizon for the color blind,
Drop a note, forecasting the news, that brings, Spring to mind
Your adrenaline, leaves people with a feel good faint.
At this level, Poet you're better than high speed Internet,
Anything that makes you feel this is the real deal,
Today, you write like there's no tomorrow, borrowing yesterday's clay
Inspiring ink, left to right, feeding the need to breed a poetic degree
Your dramatic dialogue, deserve 'The Peoples Choice award."
I love the sweet audio, when you lowercase every word
It's done so well, hell, let's never capitalize another word
Reaching a point across, when capitalizing every letter,
This is your world, take it, manipulate it, with the perfect stanza
Produce it like a poetic film, imagery, action, CUT it like Jerry Bruckheimer
One day Hollywood will incite a roll, looking for the best poetry soup rhymer
Your tears and affection, you pour on partial paper,
Showing every word you want to enunciate
A SHOULDER-- gone cold, drowning, forgetting the normal way
Writing about the pure religion that meets your light,
A beautiful flower under the moonlight
Hear the bells, Poe wrote about, adding sprinkles to the twinkle in your eyes,
A redolent scent not meant to be forgotten, from Eden's garden
Taking nature, by course, granting her a crown, before slamming us down
I will call her out --The evil and the fury of a goddess, a beast
This is my feast, I welcome you to my jungle, and the outer bounds of time.
If you ever question where it comes from?
Sit down and get a load off, listen---Where's the ecstatic applause?
I'm not afraid to say, -----I'm Proud to be A Poet Without A Cause
by;PD
I do it for fun
Cantos Uno Obsessive Eclipse Octavia
Israel is like a mote on mankind’s face
Born on May 14 1948 ,
A host of problems a bloody disgrace
I see two eclipses to change it’s fate,
A lunar eclipse Sept 7 next year
A rotten tepid corpse is Isreal’ end,
Dec 28 2 years away I fear
Which lunar eclipse could fulfill the trend.
There are some partial lunar eclipses too
They are 4 and 5 years apart in time ,
Will these doom angels assure Isreal is through?
Israel gone -time for Palestine to shine
And The last eclipse is to far away,
I might be dead that time who is to say
The first partial eclipse I will be here ,
What doom will I find on the blogosphere
Cancer is on Israel’s tenth house end
Saturn in Cancer a weak place for sure ,
Moon in tenth conjunct Saturn -a friend
The Moon godliness. for Saturn is the cure,
Let us look at the Nakshatra for the Moon
A godly message for Israel -a boon ?
The Moon’s Nakshatra is in the 8th cell
Pushya acts godly as far I can tell.
Cantos Duo: Considerazioni Astrologiche
And Israel’s 7th house cusp is Aries. too
And plenty of foreign disputes to date
And Mars in Leo in the 11th -true
Ready for war that it anticipates
For Israel it is not an good investment
This behaviour just brings resentment
Israel can be to aggressive to some
To self assured in disputes they think they won
But the 7th house is Israel’s allies
When Mars transits the Tenth time for a coup
With the above config allies strategize
Mars nakshatra,Magha great success too
Sun is in Taurus -gets resources from friends
Ruled by Venus in the 9th bucks never end
Wars it undertakes they feel surely blest
Wars it undertakes ,it feels it passed the test
The Sun’s Nakshatra is called Krittaka
The Sun acts like a persona non grata
Envoi:
Isreal civic views are like swine
Eclipses purport drastic change
Warn Israel free Palestine
If you don’t change you are deranged
Take no crap from Zionists too
And they twist facts to thier taste
If we do mankind is screwed
Set them straight else all is a waste
Not all Jews are Zionists too
These Jews think these folk are morons ,
Please I ask don’t conflate the two
No, then you will get a sermon.
Yang: What is the difference between a theist and an atheist?
Yin: A bicamerally balancing ego/eco-teleologist.
Yang: Well, so what's that; a teleologist?
Yin: You, if you believe the Earth is your co-gravitational
(0)-double-binding mind-spirit/body-nature center
epi-center
of wealthy egonomic
and healthy ecopolitical values,
each with equi-valent
ego/ecological
transgenerational health-care
deep wealth meaning merit.
Yang: So, who wouldn't believe that?
Yin: Probably no one.
Yang: So, why, exactly, is this an issue I need to look at right now?
Yin: Because, if you are an ecological panentheist,
then you are also a (0)-interest
co-invested bodhisattva peace warrior
poli-economist,
presumably.
Yang: Wow, I really did not see that climax coming at all!
Yintegrity: Yes, well, I get that all mind/body bipartisan time.
YangBright: Hmmm.... I can see purpose Now i
n sort of a 4D WinWin Cooperative Here
Ego/EcoOccupyers
Rejoining RNA Tribal Purpose
unfolding dialectical
exponential
deep fractal meaning
kinda' organic sacred WuWays.
YinPower: Don't rush, reframe our collateral flow issues,
in alpha(0)mega double-binding poli-economic
nondual crown/rooted
mind-dawn/body-dark
respirating EarthNature's
dipolar teleological appositions.
YangLight: You flow on too darkly rooted much
for optimally repurposed fire-power.
YinPower: Invest less in competing economic partial-trusts
and politically disharmonic insufficiency
of loving sacred beauty.
Instead,
invest in repurposing
every co-engaging
meaning-full
experiential expedition
only where your economic health flows out
our cooperative climatic inflow
of politically multicultural wealth.
YangMind: Ah, yes,
I see
our MidWay Zen
mutual reflection again,
where my Tao wealth
caressingly embraces your cooperative health
of coarising egomind/ecobody-engagement
Right purposeful proportion,
eco-dominant meaningful balance,
light's radiant fractal frequencies
of regenerative logos-dawn/mythos-dusk
Yang/yin
pregnant/absent
positive/double-binding negative,
appositional boundaries of co-balancing light
and prime co-relational powers.
YinPower: And you think I flow out too much feeling!
-
A Greek philosopher hopefully said beware
Beware the couple being the of the same embryo
Who jealously promotes themselves
One outwardly and openly one inwardly and secretly.
Beware of Glorification and intimate greed at any cost
Beware of the anger of one and the apparent denial of the other
Beware of receiving support one day and opposition the next
Beware the fears of one covering up for by the other
Watch the circling of one overhead ready in wait to protect the other
If you fallout with one again the bond strenghtens between them
This bond is undying and unbreakable.
Should we try to break it : There is no point trying. It cannot be broken.
Although it is right for it to be broken
Why, because their bond brings down families and marriages.
It brings down church and state. Yes this is true.
It hastens death through stress and the strains placed on people
They are acutely aware of what has been happenning.
At my father's funeral there were severe partial satements made from the alter
together with anger and lies. This from a twin, a twin who is a priest.
His deception in the home of my father and joyful celebration at his death.
One brother described my father as Hitler over expressing his opinion
on a suitable bride for him many years before.
I wonder who is the one that behaves despotically.
He was known as the ' imposter' by my father. Oh ! he would say
the imposter rang last night. But this imposter is a catholic priest,
a missionary priest. A priest who is so hard minded.
So much so that he used to strangle animals with coat hangers as a child.
I'm sure or quite sure that a Greek philospher must have said the above but
if he did not then he should have. I cannot understand why, when a twin
has chosen to marry the other twin, namely the priest ,
should not do all in his power to prevent that marriage. And
take everyone down with him on the way.
Mind boggling. Meanwhile I have lost a wife, two children, my father and four other
brothers over this one man. And today he hides his head in the sand
down in South America. I am heartbroken and alarmed at the religous order
he belongs to and their approach or understanding of him.
I'm sure other twins do not behave the same way..
Heartbroken.
Form:
She walks gingerly back to the pride,
sensing something’s not right,
Dropping her kill upon the grass,
greeting party’s nowhere in sight,
My cubs my beautiful cubs, calls them,
but only silence echoes back,
Smelling the air desperately,
alas nascent scent it lacks,
Confused she roars, pacing in circles,
going round, over and over,
Then sees a stranger on the tree line
a bold menacing interloper,
His mane bloodied, face heavily scarred,
wearing triumphant gaze,
No it’s not possible, where’s my king,
our protector, father of my babes,
In the distance recognizes her sisters,
pacing back and forth,
Making weird guttural noises,
peculiar terrifying snorts,
They meet up trying to reassure each other,
realizing something has changed,
Deep down aware, balance in the pride,
has been savagely rearranged,
Going into the trees, heads hung low,
finding cubs torn to shreds,
Licking and shoving them, still tepid,
but all the babies are dead,
Distressed lionesses roar,
rage and disillusionment fills fiery eyes,
After some time they walk away,
it’s over, through absence of life and cries,
Showdown in the open, killer awaits,
knowing what must be done,
Has to face the music, for his crimes,
no backing down, he will not run,
Huge and impressive, mane of matted blood,
dripping in egregious sin,
I’m your new master, will fight all to death,
this pride needs a king,
Unbelievably lioness becomes estrous,
no sign of grudging hate,
What’s gone is past, she needs new cubs,
submissive prepares to mate,
Mounting from behind he roars,
jaws locked around her neck,
Seed sprays between her loins,
your sisters are getting some next.
Now go out search the plains,
bring back some worthy kill,
I’m partial to them black and white ones,
seen some leeside of yonder hills,
Yes I’m making changes,
turning this shambles into a home,
Will rule with determination,
your new king, accedes the throne,
No morals to my story,
other than nature can be cruel,
Lets bygones be bygones,
law of the jungle always rules,
Who are we to judge them,
we’re merely hanging on ourselves,
But we’ve evolved choice,
Lions just play the hand thats dealt.
By
David kavanagh