Long Poignantly Poems
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I hear the voices you once bequeathed to me
Enchanting concert music in symphony of love
But I left the theater before the show was over
Walking all alone in the missteps of contempt,
Endorsing the reticence of unspoken words.
Deep in my psyche these memories now reside
Where devoid of fond smiles, blossoms have dried.
As I refuse to accept that I’ve lost you forever
Echoes of outcry from the unsung emotions
Poignantly evoke the saddest lines of discourse
In conversations espousing laments of my soul,
Within backstreets of mind amid chaos of thoughts
Having lost directions to dreamlands of the past,
For I refused the promise in winter’s goodbye
And rejected fiery passions of autumnal vibes,
As I squashed the dreams in flights of monarchs—
Never kissing fragrant lips of doting ambrosia.
Though you guided me through twilight of romance
I struggled in ineptitude of lovesick night of dark—
Oh, how I missed my mark beneath the northern star!
As my storm keeps churning, hosting a cyclone,
The rivers, once calm, have flooded my crops
And gusty winds ravaged dismantling my farm
And tall weeds have now occupied my sidewalks,
As dissonance of our love remorsefully squalls
Within indecisive nomenclature of my timid heart.
September 25, 2019
Placed 1st: In the backstreets of my mind poetry contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Placed 3rd: Strand select C contest by Brian Strand
We began our late winter do-over
with a dirty ceramic bowl
during a too-much snowstorm.
Well, no,
obviously that's not where this rebirth story begins
but neither is a cream-colored
and clean
bowl
where this story ends.
Anyway,
I look at Matilda's mac and cheese bowl
from the RaggedyAnn frosty night before
while an early morning April Fool's snow blanket
arises perfectly
peacefully
majestically
and really too wetly
outside our kitchen windows.
I wash his late night
and lunch-time dishes all the time,
with grateful precision.
Not all the time,
but frequently,
poignantly,
yet he washes his dishes
without touching Matilda's or mine.
Why would our Cooperative WinWin Gamer
not see how inappropriately WinLose
this is?
Never mind about disrespectful
and possibly selfish.
How does this lack of awareness
betray us,
a more or less functional
resilient cooperative health service unit?
What does this mean
and what is his message
through medium
of round crusty artifact?
I do his dishes
because I'm washing dirty dishes
so I don't have to look at them,
or smell them,
and so they don't attract pests
when they are not well rinsed
by RaggedyAnn feisty nubian princess.
Is this because I am a responsible adult
and a parent of hurt children?
And he is not?
And, if so,
then why would our WinWin Gamer
assume it's OK
to not act like a responsible young adult
and Cooperative Gaming Sibling?
Facilitator,
both teacher and regenerational student
of healthy resilient life-skills.
Is this message ageist,
and/or anti-parental?
Downsides of Peter Panism,
Eastern Innocence
without strong ecocentrically mature roots,
yet.
So I asked him
about why leaving dirty bowls is OK
for him
regardless of who started it.
And we talked cooperatively WinWin
together
about why they aren't so great for me,
and possibly us.
That helped us
both to see ourselves
and each other
in some ways
newborn clean bowl differently.
It was about then
this magical early spring snowstorm
faded toward partly sunny
and shoulder-warmer.
I believe that when the world was young
When everything was new;
Before sin had touched the earth
And still God's face we knew
Before the sun, before the moon
Before the deep and dark
When God was the light we loved
And evil had no part.
That all did nestle safely
Beneath God's throne so close
That now and then he'd listen in
To our songs he loved the most.
Then in the midst of all his glory
That one might just catch sight
Of a smile so wonderful to see
It made our merry hearts delight.
I'm dreaming then before the end
We'll touch his ear with a prayer
So poignantly repentant and full
Of the overflowing love we bear
That he can't help remember
Songs we sang to him above
Then He'll move worlds to make it be
Just like the way it was.
RETA PRUITT
August 29, 2016
He thought that he had lost all his marbles on the crossing
The autumn tides had been huge and the currents strong
Mostly the aquamarine ones off track and abandoned
A bit like blue smarties excluded from the shiny packets
Forbidden colorants had lost their way into his life
Must have put them into one of the Nivea tins he collected
For safe keeping so well they were hidden too mindlessly
His mood though full of the blues like cyan in a capsule
As he struggled through the time warp of self-deception
No more cerulean light and Munch’s scream full of morose
Moribund insanity with the ocean’s plight darker than black
He felt sizzling hotter than blue blazes in his very own hell
Like cold death warmed up and the hobgoblin gone crazy
Women were said to bring bad luck as distraction of sailors
Strangely naked ones were welcome on board to relax the tiller
And the compass’s needle pointed nether like phallic delight
Tall and erect full of heart blood and passion he had once been
Yet living disaster had struck home and all pastels were stuck
Out of the blue an angel appeared who was poignantly wearing
A fine blue seductive dress of intricate weave and labyrinthine fabric
He undressed her in rising fantasy and she wished just the same
A super blue blood moon ready for passion and climax of harvest
Nivea turned into deep heat mixed with menthol and chocolate
With blueberry essence and grapes south of navel and nave
Finn had found huckleberries at last and she had been waiting
An eternity for a Prince to cherish her plum and gift her a peach
Dew reappeared like morning glory as they condensed into one
And christened white satin sheets for they embarked wet and wild
Fiona shone bright fair and beautiful honest open and upright
A sapphire dropped from heaven in light of a precious fine marble
he liked it black and white with no greys in between
even when cracks appeared so strikingly evident
strictly speaking he preferred pink purple and orange
yet when life gave him lemons the brush would not work
the more he stroked and tarred over ruptures and fractures
uncertainty became elusive and poignantly concise
quite the opposite of what he had bargained for with all
the power delusion distraction insecure fear and despair
he knew that the writing was on the wall and yet
the language was foreign complex and would not reveal
meaning message beauty connotation and guidance
as he was blocked into silence depression resentments
all this had been the relentless story of his life and he
could not bear it any longer seemed to have lost all control
a rational mind portrayed it as the gift of desperation
a way forward towards healing perspective and peace
it was difficult to will positive emotions into effect
matters did not fall into balance but skewed misperceptions
what remained was hope rather than mere expectations
and he carried his burdens into an unpredictable but promising future
As a child and a teenager I used to attend a mission-hall,
Which had an outreach to the homeless of Edinburgh;
And every three weeks until I was about seven,
They would give the last call so that god could your soul deliver.
They said at the end of every sermon,
Every three weeks in the evening,
“This is the last call!” and they meant ever,
‘Cos Jesus could return any time for the believing.
I felt so intimated by it, this unkind presence of mind,
That I could not properly sit on my seat,
But I knew that they were insane with melancholy,
And that it was the real dynamics of life that they could not heat.
I refused to chat with them after services and at the youth club,
About what I believed and about the in and outs of my thoughts,
But poignantly sat down with the Youth Fellowship leader once,
And talked to him about what in me life had very clearly wrought.
When I said outrightly that I did not believe in the Second Coming,
And that life was for keeps, give or take a few possibilities,
It was as if his world crashed down disarrayed in shambles,
As he was shattered by my philosophical sway and confident amble.
He realised fully that I was damning their last call,
The pressure of it and how it riled, writhed and tormented;
That it was for no good reason, for no universal moral principle,
For no disciplinary cause and for no complimentary angle.
So he arrogantly walked away from me, rudely with passivity,
Not aware of his own need of polity, sense and direction,
But it was a triumph for that mission-hall boy worker,
To react to an objector so firmly and not himself recapture.
They were generally unresponsive and indifferent,
To intelligent objectors who had a righteous way,
Because this left them with their day-to-day lunacy,
With reality dressed for them to face another day.
That mission has changed today into a Christian centre,
Bright and refurbished and selling lunches in a cafe,
And I am proud of its journey, how far it came,
Because the transition was by no means lame.
Perhaps like a lightning
bolt of clear out of the blue
rigor mortis (tenon and
three decades hence)
two thousand fifty nine if you
count from January 13th 2019, adieu
attest that day 9 months I did brew
in wound (of the late Harriet Harris),
now finds me loved ones
crying boo hoo,
after this stiff mortal
Earthling bid toodle loo
with symbolic casket
(carrying cremated urn of ashes)
remembrance attended
by gentile and Jew
sharing positive memories purportedly
about this nondescript
fellow they knew
mainly indirectly, poignantly,
and wickedly shot thru
with his insightful humorous scribblings,
plus magnus opus titled
"How do ye do,"
an informal rambling missive bereft
of any subject and
devoid with little clue,
the purpose of said hefty tome
out weighing The Federalist circa: knew
lee after American independence
Papers, written by true
purrs under the pseudonym "Publius"
but great (as a great doorstop), or
alight as tinder for barbeque
since many admirers never
read his text written in Hebrew,
fluency acquired spending
final years he grew
old, since automatic citizenship
granted based on genetic goo
plus Mediterranean climate helped promote
longevity to century his health did hew
thus naturally pronounced philosophy,
where he drew
quite a wide web asper the many
claims Matthew Scott did eschew
to maintain longevity (more
quackery than science), but who
could dispute glorious
principles, not to poo poo
analogous to placebo effect
harmless fervent coping methods,
whether to cure ague
interestingly enough he cited ack hue
puncture for a gamut of physical ills
as well he did advocate chew
wing food (after taking small bites)
until mouthful became pulpy slew
(proponent of Fletcherism), this to
exercise dentures in addition
to maximize stew
pen diss experience of simple
routine eating view
wing thoroughly good (by George)
said quotidian activity grew
tubby spiritual, similarly basic
functions in general did get skew
ward whereby meditation on intrinsic,
metabolic and scholastic
processes to name a few
added a dimension of enhancement prior to
exiting life into frontier mortals can only rue.
Täuschung
A very powerful German feminine noun that’s
replete in certain life situations with shades of
of deception, delusion, and illusion—which, in
turn, depend on certain circumstances and life
experiences which seek the situational power
and force that speaks to and shapes the very
nature of projected and expected outcomes in
another person’s favor or even another group’s
true intention and advantage as a move is made
for one to invariably “strike while the iron is hot,”
whilst ensuring that “all of the other pearls of no
value,” are conveniently cast out to “pigs” who
are the true losers and shall never possess the
real spoils at hand. If you have ever been lied
to, fooled, or deceived, then I am afraid you are
in the sad company of many others in life who
have been similarly affronted in a life’s run.
If this should be the case, I proffer to you, to
never forget the word Täuschung and its real,
teachable meaning in this instance. It’s worth
thinking about. After all, I might also add, that
the famous comedian, W.C. Fields, had once
so poignantly posited the following very famous
expression: “Never Give a Sucker an Even Break.”
Need I say more? I rest my case. Amen! Amen!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
October 14, 2018 (Didactic)
War for our souls
Inexplicable reason crying foul,
Final war for - the soul of man
The ironic scarcity of happiness
Mass contract killing sanctioned, tho allowed
And simply, all, just because
- they can..?
Search for neither limit bound
Across the Earth dimensions fold,
For spiritual trap - nonetheless
In pictures, movies, of Cabaal
Trickery, sorcery forever sold
manufactured wars through constant lies
Promoting, funding - of all sides
Conflict of purpose truth be told
Ignoring victims and their cries
Banksters printing, Profit making
FIAT currency usuary system
Maintaining undue persistent stress
Corporates in unison with
government a formality
This their form - insipid totality
Choosing their vehicle to oppress
Pandemic nonsense lying stats,
why would they want this - for us?
Revealing, but exposed no less
We cannot carry on in this way,
cycle of torment to ourselves
Prediction now of man's success
All wars satanic so they say
But most poignantly now, this final one, though it never relented, it never went away..,
Are all deniers idiotic then?
Or does their salary then depend
on such intended pay for play..
Rhetorical license words suspend,
All the things that however defile us, including private and mass hysteria,
And disbelief - amongst other things, to which there appears no end,
Freed from mesmerised compliant inertia,
For spiritual Gnosis be regained,
But willing and able all shall pass,
Protect oneself properly, the one true intellectual property, that always had remained,
Entire matrix paradoxical lies
Nothing is lost, but yet forbidden
to the unknowing crippled masses,
- remember..
All is possible
Although it is yet,
all..
- still hidden.
Kurt Hubbard-Beale
During covid 19 lockdown
October 2020
The PoetTree on Telegram
Awaken Poetry. Awareness Poetry. Geopolitical. Philosophical. Music. Shared
SANCTIONS ENGAGED
the impact
formulated&cultivated
to promote
captivating
the impossible
eliciting
dazzling sparkling
gathering the dedicated
with oblique
but lighthearted
pretexts
& pleasures
vituousy
devoted
to facilitate
&reward
continuation of the
subordinate role
cited by a phrase
inward daydreams
an unappreciated
force
but with
an essential aim
somewhat incongruous
but significant
perpetuates the
expressive sensation
connects
meaning
with a new style
continually
contributing
to its
origins
frequently applying
distinctive approaches
&poignantly tracking
tendencies
to mesmoralize
&
immense in
full participation
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived