Long Permeated Poems
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At work it was slack- not much to do,
The boss was out on the prowl.
We have to look busy no matter what
His face was all of a scowl.
I had the misfortune to pick up a paper
A paper someone bought for their break,
The boss he saw- and he descended on me
The shock made my knees begin to quiver and shake.
His name was Marsh but we called him Swampy
A more evil man there never was…
I expected to end up like a corpse from Pompey
When to his office he dragged me because.
The fear made me shake
And wind I did break
The smell permeated through the air…
He stood looking at me but I could see-
to ask me he never would dare…
My lips began to twitch, my nose began to itch
What on earth was I going to do?
He opened the door pushed me out to the shop floor
The shock made me-
nearly drop a poo...
I heard a big gasp
He took a deep breath in at last
I ran off before he caught me again.
The lesson I learnt
I know now why matches are burnt
In small closets all over the land…
But as I don’t smoke, when I break wind I choke
As I never have matches to hand.
From that day forth
Matches are in my pocket henceforth
Swampy can catch me on a skive if he does like
But he never has-he avoids me because
When he is around I get out the matches and strike….
After most recent shower,
and particularly washing hair
(then shaking head
analogous to sopping wet dog
drying her/himself after a bath),
I immediately said helloo
to Long lasting fragrance Suave
essentials Daily Clarifying
Deep cleansing Shampoo,
which permeated mine scalp
facilitating healthy follicles.
More so frothy lather upon noggin
after getting rinsed out
yielded bounteous, luscious, luxurious,
and marvelous full bodied tresses
reminiscent when yours truly an adolescent,
a veritable long haired pencil necked geek
whose hirsute trademark
still characterizes atypical sexagenarian
above mentioned characteristic
still (after scores of years)
emblematic of this enigmatic poetaster.
Ever since being in utero
soon after seminal fusion
insync with fallopian tube bearing ova
begot zygote courtesy said gametes,
and engendered silent boom
after piercing zona pellucida
creating microscopic flume,
nevertheless collection of cells
coalescing into embryo
eventually manifesting into yours truly,
I painstakingly took minuscule
comb and brush to groom,
and dreaded most fearfully being locked,
where pair of outsize scissors did loom
threatening to cut thick,
what could best be envisioned analogous
to imperceptible fancy plume
hich features specific feature
drew medical community
(i.e. namely human reproductive specialists)
constituted extensive expanse
within blastocyst very limited room
crowd sourcing out rivaling curious onlookers
formerly geared up
to espy King Tutankhamun's tomb
can you dear reader believe
a hairy globule within the womb
became global attraction
viz - of a young fecund Harriet Harris,
cuz about nine months later
out the birth canal I did zoom.
I look around me; wow, this is unexpected!
Myriad strangers are milling about (thousands at least)
on the expanse of a plain that feels endless
even though I can see far out
to a horizon of verdant shining trees encircling us all.
The atmosphere here feels incredible
(and I don’t mean just the quality of the air.)
It’s as if wisdom has permeated all those here assembled,
such that a feeling of overwhelming peace abides here.
Within moments, I notice several figures approaching me.
Their eyes, softly radiant and seeking me out,
fall upon me with inexpressible joy.
I see my father, a few of my dearest friends, my grandparents,
my favorite aunt, Joan, and my beloved brother Dale,
who was taken from our family while still in his prime.
He reaches out to embrace me,
and among this sea of souls,
everything becomes
clear.
Feb. 19, 2023
for The Clearing Poetry Contest of Craig Cornish
It was 2019 when someone accused me of being in denial of the privileges I had as a white man. At the time I felt uncomfortable with this. I didn't understand how I had any advantage socially or economically over black people. I knew how I felt about racism, I had seen examples of racism, during the time when Barack Obama was president, when I used a portajohn and saw in black marker above the toilet seat, a racial slur about Obama comparing the color of his skin to human turds.
But i was unaware still of how much white supremacy and racism permeated our culture as high up as our elected officials and government. I was of the belief then, that the law was designed to target discrimination on the basis of race and national origin, but I still held to an outdated view of racial discrimination that did not consider how nuanced racial discrimination could become.
As the months flew by and a new administration came in, I began to notice evidence of racism and white supremacy much more in people's everyday language, even in those closest and dearest to me. I began to have hypersonic hearing.. not really. I began to watch out for these things even more. I began to fear and be cautious of people with these views about non white people and immigrants.
Today if someone were to accuse me of white privilege I would
not be so defensive about it like in years before. I grew up in a community almost all white, most of my class was white, I had no interaction with black people until I was in high school. Even when I was exposed to more diversity, I still mostly had white friends.
So I could not really understand the full story of what black people were going through, because I hadn't developed relationships outside the color of my own skin. I only knew race based on my own perspective, only based on what I had experienced and seen of life.
My accuser was not wrong.
Way down south at the edge of the swamp,
Was a little town known as Backwater.
A peaceful town that most folks found,
Was a good place to raise sons and daughters.
A plague hit the town and people fell sick,
And soon they were dropping like flies.
No doc could be had and the fever was bad,
So they called on the preacher and midwives.
They did what they could but it wasn't enough,
And folks were in fear for their lives.
One woman knew of a spinster who,
Had a sister who lived nearby;
Deep in the swamp, she never came out,
Shunned people and kept to herself.
Some thought her a witch, at best an old b-- h,
But right now they needed her help.
They sent her word through her sister and said,
For whatever she'd do she'd be paid.
She decided she'd make for her sister's sake,
The trip into town and give aide.
When she arrived no one could say,
Next meeting she was just there.
'Mid the fightin', and cussin', and much more discussin',
She pushed back screeching her chair.
My name's unimportant as are you all.
I came at my sister's call.
I'll cure your fever and then I will sever,
All ties and binds with you all.
She mixed up a brew amid the town square,
Soon the smell permeated the air.
Not really bad from the whiff that I had,
T'was the medicine we would all share.
Well the people got well and no one else died,
And the two sisters packed up their wares.
We'd best be off one said with a scoff,
Hang around here if you dare.
The town bid them stay, please don't go away,
For sure you will live like a queen;
But they took their pay and left the same day,
Never no more to be seen.
The townsmen searched high and searched for them low,
To bring them both back to the hollow.
They found on a post a note from their host,
We've gone, do not try to follow.
I remember her garments of assigned spiritual gifts.
I remember her beautiful fashions and modeling shows.
I remember the first book she wrote and published.
I could never forget her Gospel meetings.
Her magazine was an unforgettable magazine.
In one sense, one could reckon her garments to be
permeated with a fruit of the spirit; and putting on
a garment could symbolize putting on a spiritual fruit.
This was indeed an art form, poetry walking across a stage.
Yes, I call to remembrance those fruitful and
productive years. That picture of the little boy
on the cover of 'Hope Magazine' was priceless, and
it spoke volumes. If I can remember all these things
about Kat, I have no doubt that it is impossible for God
to forget her and her unique brand of Christian ministry.
I also remember her adversities, challenges, and trials.
I cannot forget her illnesses nor her walking through the
valley of the shadow of death. None of God's servants has
ever been put on the shelf in the way we deem 'on the shelf'.
God is Sovereign and works in mysterious ways, His wonders to
perform. God is not one to be locked into a form or pushed into a
corner. Truly, like the song says, He is always working. Whether we
find ourselves on a shelf, or on a stage communicating Christ, or flying
across the sea to reach lost souls, God is always working. Furthermore,
God is presently working in, with, for, and through Kat. Also, you and me.
082422PS
Tribute to a fashion designer
That Day
The guns are silent, and the smoke which filled the air, is long since gone. The sounds that permeated the scene resound no more as they did That Day. The blood-soaked ground has been cleansed by time and weather. But … the frightful horrid memories will forever linger in the minds of the survivors. It makes no difference of where nor when those happenings occurred, for every armed conflict since the beginning of time possess such details. Reminiscent tears erode the conflicts’ causes, but the uncompleted lives of those who died remain damning monuments to the futility of all those collective causes and the madmen who still create them.
In memorium *
He put his rifle safe,
pulled up the blanket
against the cold.The Spring
rain dripped in rivulets
down his trench wall.
The blossoms of the hops
would be just flowering
back home. He dreamed on
of the girl he met on his
last leave. In this
hell on earth, to dream
was to live, for a few
moments; to escape the
monotony of this endless
unreality. The face of
his mother, filled this dream,
Harriet was crying, whispering
her love; hopelessness had
permeated his last letter. He
awoke, suddenly with a start,
It was time; the big push
was on. The ‘final battle’
the officer had said. Perhaps
I will be on furlough for harvest,
he thought, smiling inwardly,
day-dreaming for a second
or two, he joined the line.
‘Into your hands O lord’ the
Padre’s murmured benediction
the last words, he heard.
*Albert Strand 1890-1918
Composing harp melodies as a musical score,
Sounds that seem to have been frozen in time,
In reverse metamorphosis, crystals melt more,
Snoring in lattice husks, a willow moth sublime.
Sounds that seem to have been frozen in time,
In a dismal dungeon, dragonflies utterly scatter,
Snoring in lattice husks, a willow moth sublime,
Blood-storm charms fall in a tungsten disaster.
In a dismal dungeon, dragonflies utterly scatter,
If these models don't assist you to sleep tonight,
Blood-storm charms fall in a tungsten disaster,
Or educate the demons who entice your insight.
If these models don't assist you to sleep tonight,
Conceivably that our ambitions will deceive,
Or educate the demons who entice your insight,
Maybe you'll opine everything is crystal naive.
Conceivably that our ambitions will deceive,
Warm lime hues permeated the air with honesty,
Maybe you'll opine everything is crystal naive,
You'll notice how I've stated times of ambiguity.
Warm lime hues permeated the air with honesty,
with timeless topaz and a ticking sapphire burst,
You'll notice how I've stated times of ambiguity,
For the time being, I'd yearn to exhibit my worst.
With timeless topaz and a ticking sapphire burst,
In reverse metamorphosis, crystals melt more,
For the time being, I'd yearn to exhibit my worst,
Composing harp melodies as a musical score.
Written: January 14, 2023
Contest: Autumn's Many Colorful Moons
Sponsor, Daniel Henry Rodgers
Written 09152016
Autumn is easily the season I like most;
But for more than just the climate reason.
Sure, Autumn is much to do about weather,
But the reason for its popular appeal is so much more.
Perhaps I can name that tune in two words.
I'm thinking about Dispatch and Anticipation.
But the musing goes back to my childhood.
After a prior period of four months of hard labor
in heated fields of cotton, Autumn brought the fragrance
of relief. Autumn released a feel of 'finish' that until then,
was a season permeated with the feel of 'A never ending story'.
Autumn meant DISPATCHING of hard labor and fields of cotton.
ANTICIPATION'S bounty had finally arrived to make one smile.
The sweet aromas of festivities was flowing in the air now freed
from sickening smells of crop dusting and insecticides. The
spirit of Gratitude inhabited the culture with the giving
of thanks for little or for much. And just over the horizons
was the very best time of the year. Festivities bathed in the
pool of giving and loving. Christmas! The Jolly Season!