Long Played out Poems
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Oh! dear what can the matter be?
Punch stands accused of assault, and battery.
There's no show without Punch, no saturday's matinee.
His lawyer declared that's unfair.
Oh! dear what can the sentence be?
If Punch is found guilty, he'll swing from a gallow's tree.
His lawyer implored, he's innocent set him free.
While Punch with a hunch did not care.
Oh! dear what can his answer be?
Punch promised the judge, it was all of a fantasy.
With the rest of the cast, confessing it's history,
Played out for some fun at the fair.
2/ 6/ 2018.
a metal arm takes samples
from a recent part of the surface
on the face of the moon
as scientists at control panels watch
for a more recent part of the surface
an explorer is launched
as scientists at control panels watch
a human endeavor unfolds
an explorer is launched
the yearnings of mortal dreams
a human endeavor unfolds
in front of eager eyes
the yearnings of mortal dreams
a heartbeat of longing souls
in front of eager eyes
the celestial drama
December 6,2020
a heartbeat of longing souls
the subliminal urge played out
the celestial drama
a metal arm takes samples
He flops at rest stops
hid by other sleeping truckers.
He likes the loneliness
as the cab windows gradually mist over
with smokey stars.
Rolling on,
cities of light flare upwards
and beneath them
are the unseen, the dead eyed
that hide under a metro-glare.
Amarillo, Detroit, Tacoma, Richmond,
places packed and stacked
with broken dreams and loose ends.
Just driving; hauling and honking.
No one looking.
Launderettes and liquor stores,
five finger fandangos in the back,
chicken wings and Jack D.
Atlantic City, Apalachicola,
soaking in the slipstream
while America looks somewhere else.
What are you watching America?
Sometimes he thinks
only the coyotes are paying attention.
Roads thread through his fingers.
The Great Lakes shimmer,
Rockies rear-up and ripple,
all those dust painted
played-out rural towns,
the roads are his tunnel
through both beauty and depredation.
Old men on roadside benches
stare unphased by his air horn blare'
as if he himself were an 18-wheeled
rolling exhibit of America itself,
yet no one looks long enough
to care.
Forest fires in Canada
leave a haze in Iowa
and I can’t help but think
of how they have consumed
the land.
As I go for a Sunday drive
a wall cloud of smoke
in the sky before me
hides the sun
but the river
is at my side
rippling reflections
of sky.
A voice inside says
we must embrace
before it's lost
as I count the miles.
I round a curve
and for a moment I see
the face of someone
I loved as she smiled,
a memory unveiled.
Yet I know
fires are burning
out west
a story played out
every year.
I look into my self
and feel assured
as the sun emerges
and opens the skies.
for every charred trunk
that falls a seed
left in its wake
They once met upon a poetry site,
shared romantic words by computer light.
His poems of rose pedals and floating doves,
her verses of broken hearts and jilted love.
Those touching comments soon lit a fire,
innocent flirting now burning desire.
Their public secrets fanned the embers
and played out before all the members.
Alas unable to contain their lust,
to finally embrace became a must.
Soon they soupmailed their secret plot,
to meet in the nearest Wal-Mart lot.
What happened next no one can fix,
for her light was turned off at Motel Six.
It seems her tall dark poetic stranger,
turned out to be the "Trailer Park Strangler".
1/4/19
Game of pretence, is played out everyday
Our authentic self, seems to have no say
As we go about through needless parlance
Social etiquette cause of dalliance
Oft saying yes, when we wish to say nay
Hypocrisy becoming our mainstay
Subterfuge as way of life, here to stay
Silencing gentle voice, of our conscience
Game of pretence
Shifty eyes, lips that lie, thread of truth frays
One-upmanship our norm, the wayward way
Oh hermit! How will we pay our penance
Having consigned our heart to decadence
How much longer will lower mind hold sway
Game of pretence
16-February-2021
Open poetry 2 poetry contest
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
Does it always feel good to be King?
Or Queen?
Diva?
PolyPathic Genius?
PolyPhonic Perfect Pitched Prophet?
White fragility,
like loneliness,
is the psychic
and economic
and disempowering risk we take
Each time and place
we consciously impress
subconsciously oppress
unconsciously suppress
anti-consciously repress
uneven
over-invested white male privileged opportunities
To recognize history as polycultural systems
and climates as polypathic networks,
sometimes health and wealth balanced polynomials
and sometimes more monochromatically problematic,
Played out
in win/lose economic capital advantages
and egocentric/anthrocentric
competing political game environments
habitats
eco-centers
assumed to be ZeroSum
by left-brain dominant win/lose energy conservationists
and also NonZero-Sum
co-arising dipolar 4-season revolutionary
by right-sacredmind win/win emergent progressivists,
change agents vulnerably fragile
and transparently eco-feminist privileged.
Games of physical aggression
too often produce violently wounding
fragmenting
punishing
retributive justice strategies
and spiritual
metaphysical detachment
dissociation
from disempowering privileged intent
Games of metaphysical aggression
grow out from leftbrain dominant language,
patriarchal-ism word and value choices
labeling win/lose natural realism v
win/win liberal in love too optimistic v
lose/lose conservative of static entropic death
too pessimistic
too fragile
too privileged to feel
Ecologic-rooted theologies on sacred Right
and theological ego/eco-logos
for win/win feminist Left
Physical fragile metaphysicians
inhaling,
and metaphysically privileged win/win healers
exhaling.
Does it always feel good to be King?
And Queen?
And Diva?
And PolyPathic Genius?
And PolyPhonic Perfect Pitched Prophet?
Who would know
with ultra-nonviolet gratitude
this empowering East dawning side
of Gaia's BlueGreen Earth
clapping more right mindedly?
Ah, confidence,
my dear old friends,
my bosom buddy,
when there'd be loose ends
when things get muddy,
who'll take the credit,
be those who led it,
lest there'd be a debit,
then who'll collect it,
ah, confidence
... less there'd be an edit? [<--TV Movie scene]
[4 men watching]
[4]It be estranged if it played out on that side of the fence.
[1]I wouldn't put it past it, it sounds bloody plausible.
[2]Grant it's naught impossible, confidence playing out on that side of the fence, and I'd betcha', without a bloodied nose mind you.
[Retired Father walks-in]
[F]Gentlemen, that was very well thought out, a very interesting morning this has turned out to be, and um, may I ask why this particular subject matter came to be so?
[3]It was about the word 'confidence,' Father.
[F]Ah, confidence, it's a build-up word, it lifts the spirit, confidence is naught a strange word.
[3]Well, naught for you Father, but we're naught like you Father, like your sort, --I mean kind, we're from the streets.
[F]I have confidence in all of you men that you all ready on your way, you've already said it once, now be a confidence builder, before it's too late, I'm gettin' up in years gents, I won't be around much longer.
[1]Well, I'm confident that you're wrong Father.
[2]Me too, Father, I'm confident you'll be here still with us.
[3]Yes, Father, we're all confident you'll be still with us no matter how old you get, hey, what about you, you have naught said a word.
[2]Yeah, you said nothing to what we're talking about.
[1]Yeah, not a bloody thing.
[4]What are you all talking about, I'm older than Father. And now I don't know if I'm confident I'll be around much longer, eh, Father?
[F]Yes, my son, I'm also confident you won't be around much longer either.
[1]What's that Father?
[2]What you said, Father?
[3]What?
[4]I knew it--when did you know Father?
[F]When the pharmacy called me now sayin' you forgot me meds again--now git on with ya!
[3 men & a Father laughing & a 4th man joins in--relieved, confidence builds friendship, confidence constant comraderies, and laughter is the love of life, for every laugh confides in tears when it is certain of its time]
Not long ago we lived in peace.
Where children played out in the street.
The sounds of guns now fill the night.
As silence fills the streets with fright.
No more can we feel free to roam.
Outside at night away from home.
The crazy man just down the road.
Didn't stop until he shot his load.
I'd say don't worry, what can you do?
But next time maybe me or you.
So bar the door and draw the curtain.
For after dark nothing is certain.
A card of sorrow, a vase of flowers.
For mothers and widows to pass the hours.
To mark the end of time we live in.
These passages of golden ribbons.
P.S. The title and idea came from a Loggins and Messina song titled Golden Ribbons.
It's about war casualty's.
The curious case
Of
Christopher Flaherty
Who began and started out in life with
a perfectly normal human sized brain
Born with a wise old head on his
shoulder's old before his time
That over time and age regressed
And shrunk into the size of a tiny little
pettit-poi pitt
A fair haired good looking newborn
dribbling from the mouth
Barely able to hold a conversation or
converse precisely yet instantaneously
esthetically rememberable
Decked out and adorned in a bibb wearing
nappies
Sipping from a sippy cup fed by means
of entertaining aeroplane game's
And how he ended up with the most apt
fitting nickname
Christopher
Pee-Wee
Pea-Brain
Flaherty
Who fell victim to age old adage
If you do not exercise or use it
There is a distinct possibility
You may just loose it
And seeing your life being played out
on the silver screen
By some or other guy you may or may not
have ever heard of or come across in your
life before
Who everybody else seems to know or have
in fact heard of and goes bye the name of
and is simply called
Brad Jolie or Anniston I think
Anyhow matter's not as we all know
how this storyline goes
Curiosity ends up kill's the cat in
the end like Tom & Jerry
And besides ive just eat all
of the greens on my plate
And we all know what that spell's
and means to a baby
What follows is
P-U-D-D-I-N----G
Time