Long Pubescent Poems
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I know something about being a GLBT Ginger,
the undress and redress of our left leaning politics,
like sacred naked communion
for Therapeutic Warriors.
At my best,
when adolescence urged HisHer ugly ambiguous head
through pubescent tail,
I wondered if other fire redheads
and sun speckled skins
felt this co-passioned love,
desire beyond procreative need
to touch,
embrace,
to smell,
to taste,
but not to own.
How could I have known
difference between my Ginger sensuality
and gay male nervous sexuality
without more comparative communion?
Although,
in hindsight,
perhaps not quite so much commingling
of sacred elements
I invested with integrity
for sorting out these red
and blue-black,
purplish and heated
ultra-violet distinctions
of warm wet rainbow Gay ecopolitics,
with Ginger red-yin differences,
influences,
tinctures seductive and reductive,
distinctions inductive and deductive;
Integrity of wild red unrest.
Peachy keen verboten maiden jailbait
USA plum ova ripe fruit
inevitably, inimitably, invariably,...
whets whistle pubescent magic flute
impossible mission to rein with absolute
zero sucks esse to temper acute
raging testosterone, I attribute
overbearing animal urge doth constitute
difficult surge protector
resultantly, subsequently, untimely...
not inconceivable teenage
parenthood does contribute
overwhelming responsibility
adds complex twist making destitute
expense regarding sudden newlife
analogous how simple surface
Möbius strip doth render convolute
frivolous shenanigans offer pointless dispute
buck haws fawn hook caisson
akin to holding back the tide, disrepute
fallout, whereby accountability ideally
one must distribute
between minors, who risked major shock
generally ill prepared to handle
grasping hot wire strong
enough to electrocute
call of the wild heedless,
when in throes to execute
human reproduction hard rock
tune somber sober air thenceforth
issues out magic flute
after drenching, dribbling, drooling
residual expulsions 'pon hirsute
tuft possibly engendering hyperacute
revulsion basically atavistic
copulation recalls imbrute
tell tale swollen belly of gal doth impute
culling instinctual maternal institute
fancy free footloose
promiscuity makes involute
sober reality moot point,
whether one or both kids feel irresolute
adding insult to injury
mama's papa's none to happy
swiftly kickstarts harried styled jackboot
careful pops not to damage unborn
vital umbilical cord taut as jute
strong enough to harness malamute
and/or team of huskies in conjunction with
wild horses or domesticated
breeds Equus caballus
couldn't drag away even for one minute
infinitesimal speck - trim
unmistakable to misattribute,
how basic multiplication
one cannot miscompute,
and product will upend and misroute
grandiose plans leaving
puppy love mute.
Forgotten Hero
I was awesome;
destined to be rich and famous when I grew up.
Until that happened,
I settled for being a superhero…
And I was!
I was untouchable.
Bulletproof.
So fast you couldn’t even see me,
and faster still in my special shoes…
which was a good thing
because I had underwear on my head.
I was the picture of heroism
posed before the oscillating fan
which billowed my bed-sheet cape
and modulated my voice
to mimic a pre-pubescent Optimus Prime.
With a giftwrap-tube in hand
I was armed for any conflict.
Yet for all my power, I was incorruptible.
My faith was absolute…
in the certainty that
good always triumphs over evil,
and I never intended to lose.
I sought the distressed damsels
because that was the right thing to do…
not for any reward;
certainly not for their cootie-infested
kisses of gratitude.
I was great beyond everything I knew,
universally loved and adored.
I was the greatest hero the world had ever known,
and everyone wanted to be my friend…
…until they didn’t.
Because wearing fruit of the loom helmets
is for weirdoes and losers.
Because children need to stop daydreaming,
and focus on their studies.
Because not everyone can be rich and famous,
and it’s impractical to chase after foolish dreams.
Because there is no such thing as “special shoes.”
Because everything isn’t black-and-white, and
standing for what you believe to be good is intolerant,
and unacceptable.
Because superheroes aren’t real,
girls don't have cooties,
and it was time to grow up.
…and I have.
07/31/15
As pre-pubescent predilections erected
a shadow in my mirror
A more safely theological "Problem of Evil"
evolved into the elephant in my bedroom
of my own irresistible Evil nature:
My longing for mutually beloving
intimate relationships
that could only be masculine compelling
and true
and good
if spiritually "evil."
Yet when I spoke with Elder trees,
listened to mourning dove sighs,
watched seasons surf
synergetic equipoise,
I felt passionate omnipresence
still-struggling toward a polyculturing grace
of radically omnipotent grace,
bi-generative sacred place.
Natural systems seemed bisexually organizing
and inclusively regenerative,
or human nature cannot thrive
a bicameral balancing mind
within EarthTribe's evolving body.
Evil revolves more justly
when perceived backward.
My good and true resolution
to Live
as multiculturally compassionate
as possible.
She’s always drawing mermaids, and they bear
resemblance to their artist, for each one
is but a girl. Dark, wavy, thick, long hair
hides pre-pubescent breasts; Elysian
the islands drawn for all her mermaids seem . . .
so different from her own reality.
The islands that she colors are her dream.
She also yearns to swim the wondrous sea.
She’d have a mermaid’s iridescent tail . . .
No place between two legs to cause her shame!
She’d be a strong free mermaid, but she’s frail,
and so she sketches dreams she cannot claim.
Her mother sees each picture that she’s drawn,
yet fails to see her daughter's joy is gone.
For William Kekaula's Sonnet's Salutation Poetry Contest
From 2011, this is one of my sonnets with the deepest metaphorical meaning
Bring on the rejection slips and/or lost wager
Though flush with good humor
pun one mock two yields negligible
true cash equivalent value won
dirt poor offspring privileged as prodigal son
pockets bursting with legal tender,
where just yesterday I had none.
All polite declinations
strung together would circle...
(fill in the blank)
matter of fact, I just got a slew of them
today June 9th, 2020, what a lucky man
me haint an idealist...,
but winning poetry (writing) contest
or purchasing lottery tickets...
yeah, nothing butta pipe dream
such improbable whimsical notion
linkedin and tantamount
with milkmaid and pail
Aesop pose fabulous incredulous solution
finally good riddance
hand to mouth existence
hello riches, perchance a dollop
and/or sizable windfall courtesy
drawn PowerBall and/or Mega Million ticket
whereby yours truly suddenly
cursed with chump change,
and/or abundant money
would experience "fifteen minutes of fame"
flush with friends and relatives
I (a misanthrope) never knew existed
(perhaps even marriage proposition,
no matter wedded bliss prevails)
interesting... how moderate
and/or substantial wealth
suddenly finds chock a block
acquisitions (regarding brand new automobile,
custom designed house,
travel opportunities galore
(maybe even vacation to Mars)
(despite coronavirus - COVID -19) prevalence,
nevertheless awareness viz immutability altering
pubescent stunted emotional, physical
and social development
profusely sweating hands, social anxiety
all the while knowing money
can't buy happiness,
yet once and for all at long last
free and clear of grinding poverty
cuz groveling along
the pockmarked highway
avails countless exit ramps
plethora of choices
how to be analogous to jolly Roger
piloting immense ship of state
(approximating size of Rhode Island)
equipped with the latest trappings
matter of fact replete
with every creature comfort
analogous to rich
self sufficient independent country
allowing, enabling, and providing
a warm welcome - think unfurled
Harris tweed Scottish welcome mat.
Meanwhile somewhere in Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania resident
(within apartment B44)...
tenant fritters precious time wishfully thinking
(luxuriant life within theoretical leisure class)
finding this nameless scrivener
invariably hoisting himself by his own petard.
Perhaps we all secretly long
to be embedded in perpetual spring time.
My most entertaining pre-pubescent memories
of spring's most sacred times,
when occasionally left
to my own leisurely adventurous pursuits
outside for further natural/spiritual embedded nest
Include a warm and sunny afternoon
unfolding on Saturday's mid-western stage,
going to a pond
waiting on the edge of wild
lying on my belly
with my nose nearly touching
Her still surface waters
watching spiders
walk over Her
polliwog organic submarines
waving
going somewhere fins
propelling, with me,
into our Saturday afternoon
nutritional adventures
embedded in feeding FlowSource
well-being entertainments.
Another spring Saturday,
perhaps closer to full pubescent
FlowSource entertaining feelings,
I ran far back into the RoundField
where I knew a solitary MotherTree,
like me,
busy getting dressed up
in Her fulling spring leaves
while I unbusily removed all my clothes
and climbed Her
full body hugging Her trunk,
embracing and thanking each sturdy
warm-used limb
all my forceful way to Her most sacred top
To look and feel together
across this green alfalfa field
with all surrounding trees
a deeply fertile ocean forest
green-radiant slumbering mysteriously back at us,
this happy solitary FlowSource
MotherTree and ResourceMe
unseen WinWin feeling together triumphantly
becoming Be
Indigenously embedding entertainments,
Memories much richer and deeper and older
yet naked and wider and younger
than anything I ever heard or saw mid-winter
coming from inside black and white TV.
With cybernetic grace and audacious flare,
the undaunted one, I shall dare.
I am a badass-cyborg teenage drama queen, girl, both human and machine,
a fusion of strength, and a whole new dream, world!
In every bolt, I am a hero, perfect stranger,
echo of the past, Power Ranger.
I am the unseen potential
on the other side of the mirror's shattered glass.
From mortal bounds, I rise above so deal with that.
I laugh in the face of danger, powered by love and super action middle finger.
My symphony of circuitry is going through
neural pubescent exploro-genome
diodes of nextrogen and testostelectrodes.
Excuse me if that boy is so cute I might explode.
No longer held by frailty's chain,
I leap and soar, I am a teenager-cyborg dame.
Gonna kick some booty and take some names.
I am the personal touch, of gleaming steel,
a heartbeat anew,
you feel me, you game?
Cause that's the deal!
An entity unyielding,
shining force through and through,
the sport I'm fielding is winning true.
In my programming class of endless possibility,
I am the hero of my own destiny.
I stand fierce, a woman of might,
a testament to hope,
a fire-gem-tiger's eye glowing in the night.
Oh, to be like "Kim Possible",
to know no limits, to conquer the impossible.
With cybernetic limbs and a fiery soul,
I dance with destiny, as mine unfolds.
So let the verses meld with steel,
as I become an anthem to an unbreakable deal.
May my words stir hearts, ignite the flame,
and leave an imprint-to "girl power",
a brand that none can tame.
Line of inquiry:
“as both this form and boundless space
cravings of ego negated
awake, vibrant yet nonchalant
bliss drenched heart remains elated”
Believe one’s bliss is happiest in youth?
A squeaky-clean parchment with true blue eyes.
A selfishness, of seeking perk, in truth,
Circles the moon at pubescent sunrise.
Yet, surrounded by dark, although there’s stars,
The eyes wizened in pain and confusion.
Insides begin to look at clouds’ tear jars.
Thunders true love, is it an illusion?
The letting go; let spots of wisdom grow.
Portends rainbow, halo of rain; a sigh.
Let go umbrella’s twirl; accept rain’s glow.
Floating in space, like embryos, on high.
Couples, like twins, in water’s depth, don’t drown.
In selflessness, they’ve found a blissful crown.
Faulty compass of drifting swain
Freelancing on arid, desert plain
Passion fires mind of careening train
Burning loins long each satin sheath to stain
Sculpted dunes seductive beauty do feign
Smooth, silky curves do the froward eye entertain
But the silted grains proffer momentary gain
Entrancing mirages with frothy water holes detain
Anon, overwhelming desires the burgeoning libido enchain
Strained limbs long the rite of passage to explain
Scrubby growth shrouds the perimeter of fragile domain
Pubescent psyche with confusing, hormonal signals overlain
The overheated circuits a disoriented path ordain
As eroding winds of doubt doth the surface disdain
Insecure conduits more and more inward shame drain
Seething shadow flutters in constantly changing terrain
Each step on serpentine course causes more growing pain
Until stumbling on rational plateau containing deep, emotive vein
Conquering the debilitating elements that immaturity did restrain