Long Quagmire Poems
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All love roads toward Home.
If home is Rome
then all roads lead toward capital
crowning Roman home.
When Earth life systems
are rooted in a climatic crisis,
we really do need to be recentered Home
to grow healthy and recompose safety,
as We can be.
Why can Species A's prickly paradise
become Species B's gooey quagmire of a nightmare,
until We remembers
how and why and when and where
They can choose to recompose
a healthier and safer Me/We?
Why can one's homebound genius
be another's indigenous Wild Card,
and vice versa?
If one person's root systemic technology
can be another person's clowning magic,
then why can't one person's science
be another person's myth,
and the Self/Other way around
re-imagination?
Why can't West hemisphere's monocultural medicine
be East hemisphere's polytheistic ecotherapy
becoming enlightened mind meditations
empowering body medication?
Why can't one Home's natural Tipping Point
diapraxis theory
reform Earth's respiraling
spacious bilateral flow
back to another time's Mythic Earth CreationStory,
both reforming
and unforming?
Why can't one West person's fear
about pre-climatic critical intervention trends,
as too slow and lethargic and ignorant,
be an East person's just-right Earth DeComposition Myth?
Homeward bound
as GreenPeace Bodisattva Warriors
costumed for WinWin MeWe checkers
folding and unfolding co-empathic gaming choices
until everybody wins
because no one ever dies alone
or afraid to arrive home together
on BiPartisan Street
toward mindbody homes,
whether in or beyond
monotheistic capitalized
WestBrain dominant Rome.
Invisible, powerful, divine He is
determining destiny of each spec, soul
blessed ones do feel His presence everywhere
lift me, holy one!
Universe creator, far and deep, unseen
singing praises with the realized beings
I seek help to pull myself out of quagmire
do forgive my sins.
I searched Him in false images, siluettes of truth
why did not I see and be the truth itself?
was it being hidden deliberately?
need to search within.
Long wanderlust, infinite are twists and turns
only the chosen, sharp few do comprehend
I yearn to practice to differentiate
bless me to see real.
13.6.2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 19 - 4 Sapphic Stanzas - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Simulacrum
The Ducktwirt sat fudged in mud.
The gills rippled in worrying curves.
Danger was near.
The Quagmire Sea was no joke.
Skillets, Searpuckers, and Throttlecocks
Ravage these waters.
Ducktwirt's don't stand a Wormblat's
Chance in a gungle reef.
Then came the Zoomer
With its triangular cords and its dalliphins,
And the low limbering light hushing
Through the chillier depths to find the Ducktwirt's 4th eye.
It leapt towards the light
Florid with vigor and screw-all.
We eat it, now,
This Ducktwirt.
With lemon and basil.
Sandra caught it.
My youngest.
Pictures of the event
Fluttered in the air,
Above her smiling face,
Awash with glee.
Written: October 19, 2023
Poem in the Fragmented Form Created by Poetess: Constance la France
The good work is done by people with jagged, broken edges because those edges cut things and leave an imprint, a design. By Harry Crews
_______________________________________
Love's blades tear within as a dull scalpel with teeth
Leaving merely a crushed, dead chunk of flesh
It shreds, gouges, and weeps till the heart bequeaths
Offering its heart gambles will be accepted fresh,
Being hugged frowns as it gulps the vile reality
The dagger sinks further, piercing the frailty of sanity
A heart still bleeds while succumbing to sociality
Pathetic, petrous parcel with pebbly peaks
Jagged-toothed dome rising into bespeaks,
Each is engraved, erose, and has surface breaks.
Swallowed by a murky quagmire of an abyss beneath,
Snapping at heels all life, laden with vessel mensch,
Unfathomable evil clings to grief and jagged vitality
Vow to thrive with every word your soul speaks.
In the undulating landscape of confused existence,
I walk my confounded life on the path of illusion,
chase the mirage of endless desires.
I wander disillusioned in the wasteland,
seeking the sense of being in the ethereal domain,
I am trapped in the web of mortal quagmire.
Trying to be free from the mundane clutch
of the karmic destiny of captivity,
the perception of divine conscience suffuses me,
and transcending the limits of time and space,
I implore God to show me the path of journey inward,
for perpetual bliss I yearn to embrace.
As the bud of my soul serenely unfurls,
blooming the divine flower of awareness,
I perceive the grace of His bequest,
saturating me with aura of felicity.
I then discern the beauty of the enlightened life,
blessed by the benevolence of God.
In the tranquility of heavenly consciousness,
like the limitless sky of His munificence,
I soar like a bird on the wings of devotion,
float in the boundless cosmos of eternal peace.
My liberated soul flies free
in the euphoric firmament of ultimate salvation.
______________
April 17, 2023
Word Chosen : Ultimate
Contest : Writing Challenge - "U" Words
Sponsored by : Constance La France
Who do you trust least
Preacher..teacher or literal beseecher
Ethereal spiritual feast or visceral ritual beast
Funereal foibles & surreal baubles
Of a Priest
Plead to heed with every deed to the creed
Erratic didactic tactic is tragic
There is no such thing as magic
Demagogic not pedagogic logic
Subjugation to the screed or damnation indeed
Survival battered by books tattered
The seedier leaders flattered
Primal tribal rival bible revival
Media…things that mattered…shattered
Connives..contrives yet thrives
Bet everyone everywhere writhes
Let’s not forget to pay our tithes
Had enough of this guff
Before you’ve blinked
Off the cuff
You’ve been hoodwinked
In a huff
You’ve been sinked
By the bluff
Scary skits & lairy fits
Notoriety..wary of
The gobbits & gambits
Entirety of Society in bits.
The palpable culprits
At the heart of it
Twits in culpable pulpits
Totemic hysteric polemics
Sinister vicar & minister
Systemic Cleric relics
Tire of entire dire quagmire
Of the liar denier empire
Cast asunder by another blunder
Besmirch on a pedant’s perch
Tone of brimstone, thunder & fire
Prone to lurch under the church spire
What do you expect
Cause and effect
Have always been suspect
When a Rector gives a lecture
On the spectre of conjecture
This institution ain’t the solution to destitution
Why does all religious passion
Ration rather than fashion compassion
More moral blindness than kindness
Cerebral lobe flashing
Surely all we need from above
Across the globe
Is liberal lashings of love
My grandad was asked on his death bed
“Pray tell Harry…you going to heaven or hell?”
“To be frank…don’t give a monkeys” he said
“I’ve got mates in both ..so all’s well that ends well (or swell for our American cousins)”
A never ending Dream
Dreams of, a desire.
A heart set on fire.
Stuck in quagmire.
Laid upon a funeral pyre.
End of the tunnel, light
upon a heart in plight.
Wings clipped, no flight.
End of the tunnel, no sight
for this heart, that might
have known love, to write
of the glory, once again,
not of heartache and pain.
From this I must refrain.
Spilled blood that doth stain
the purity of a love
that came from above
the dregs of old age,
left upon this page.
Rolling down beams of time,
emotions laid out in rhyme.
This path I must walk alone.
For my sins, I must atone.
B. J. “A” 2
January 16th 2015
Not being woke..the system or cistern is definitely broke
Leaders plunder.. provoke under an asylum seeker cloak
Bleaker bloke masterstroke.. definitively immigrants choke
Poke meeker critics who spoke & weaker skeptics who croak
Cynics cast asunder by the bespoke thunder they evoke
Stoke the pariah fires as entire empires they revoke
Entire dire elite liar denier cheat quagmire is a complete joke
Which's why broken folk have a smoke.. become a token soak
Smooth what's wrong with a line of coke.. or bong to toke
Because not being woke.. the system or cistern is broke!
Molten lava spews from my eyes
My mouth feels dry as the scorching desert
Fear, like an unyielding boulder lies on my chest
My heart chases after the wayward wind
A pit is forming in my stomach,
My head is riding upon a vortex
Conflicting thoughts swirling through my mind
forming a surrealistic whirlpool,
And I stand rooted to the ground
like the Ancient Oak.
A sense of emptiness mushrooms within me
like morning miasma obscuring visibility,
My past dusted off into oblivion
Every moment henceforth is
pregnant with novel challenges,
Tackling a new task overwhelms me
and despair pervades my soul undeterred—
Bond by fate
Tethered to faith,
Laden feet, I am getting
mired deep in a spiritual quagmire
unable to claw my way up to Mount Calvary.
~09/26/21
~Contest: "Q" (Quagmire)
~Sponsor: Constance La France.
Start
This 21-year old girl, Sindhu
From the land of the Hindu
Set the badminton court on fire
Her opponents in a quagmire
The shuttle flew like a bird
Dropped without being heard
In the other corner of the court
Giving no chance to retort
She wove magic in her game
In her quest for universal fame
As adversaries surrendered by the way
She strode like a colossus each day
Her delicate drop-shots caressed the net
Gives her a sure point you can bet
Her vicious smashes pierce the court
The only defense is to build a fort
A prodigy like her is rarely born
Whom the entire country might adorn
An analysis of her winning ways
Suggest only resolute mind and effort pays
The Olympic medal she has won
Has brought cheers to everyone
All fans are saying in one voice
“CHAK DE INDIA”, she’s our choice
End