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when I go to the cemetery to visit the tombs of the dead
and I leave the world by stepping through the ornate gate
that leads me on a winding road into the stillness
of scampering squirrels and chipmunks and hidden bird songs
I first arrive at the tomb of grandpa . .
.
oh, he was a wonderful man, I can still hear his laugh
I loved his farm and all the animals and his joy of life
but he died too young . . .
beside him lays grandma, she is the reason I am a writer
she said write it and I never stopped, she thought a cup of
tea would cure anything, a broken heart or whatever, one day
grandma we will be drinking tea up above, she died at ninety-four
I have to take another winding path now, deeper into the quiet
and I come to the tomb and place of tears quietly serene
fitting it is shaded by a weeping willow . . . .
this is where my sister is in repose since she was a child
I will never forget our play and her smiling, happy face always
I have asked God why a thousand times . . . .
Dad, the day you died I was shattered, my whole life crumbled
I never wanted to let go of your cold hand, but I had to let you go,
I came home and wrote a poem about you and that was the beginning,
a poet was born that day . . . .
Mom, there is not a day that I do not think of you, at dawn and when I
seek rest, you are with me always, you were my best friend, when you left
I became a balloon floating in the sky with no anchor to hold me in place
I have things to tell you mom . . . .
and the newest engraving in stone, my baby boy, who never saw the sky
who never took a breath of life, people say God needed another angel,
did he have to take mine, each time the dagger plunges deeper into my
heart, and each visit leaves my heart broken again . . .
my life is ravaged with death, the garden of my life weather-stained
but I am a survivor and as I step through the ornate gate, I re-enter
my reality mourning death but determined to go on . . .
_________________________
November 4, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/six above
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1300-223-04
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard Contest, Six Relatives
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger, Judged 11/30/20
Third Place
All is quiet
as I exit through the Emergency Entrance
at the local hospital.
I notice a black T-shirt
with a pink ribbon logo
announcing in bold green script
"No one fights alone"
Due to context
I'm guessing we're talking about fighting cancer;
harm taking us away
from health care giving and receiving
we would all prefer
while walking out of,
rather than lying in,
any Emergency Entrance.
But, I am a theologian
by training
and practical parenting experience,
so I'm thinking,
Why do we not also wear T-shirts
reminding each other
"No one loves alone"
Or even
"No one loves to fight alone"
or even just among ourselves,
within our own households
and habitats.
I ponder my way back to humble Yaris,
with automatic electronic nothing,
and on the radio I hear clusters of fighting themes:
mental illness
domestic violence
gun violence
automated weaponry
military fear and threat stress-testing, enduring, stretching, growing
hazing as baptism through alcohol
depression and repression and suppression
acclimation to chronic climates of terror
and quiet climates of ever more dissonance
lack of healing sleep
anger management
fear mismanagement
mutual assured destruction (MADness)
diplomacy by threat and RightWing arms sales
military industries
applied increasingly to personal and domestic disarray,
local terrors,
households
and habitats
going up in flames
flowing under floods...
No one fights alone
just as no one loves peace alone,
and health
and ecological wealth
and ego-resilience
and eco-systemic balance,
harmony,
synergy.
No one can sustain love
while violently fighting
just as no one can sustain this fight
for climates
and cultures
and ecologies
and theologies of health
by thinking we are
admirable
or somehow credible
or even possible
sorting through
and choosing Love alone.
As I exit my car,
now home,
I think
My T-shirt would probably be too wordy,
No one loves to fight disease
and unease
alone.
Especially not God
or Allah
or Patriotic Loyalty to Earth
or wherever we find our
remember to Love messages.
All is quiet
as I re-enter our home.
I seem to be,
in this moment,
alone.
Hey I'll travel into that computer the one that sees everything..' I will get to know even
more about what's going on in this place..! Ohhh..' there's lots of pulses in here, I think
I shall travel down that hook up there right to where it ends, and see what I find..' OH..I
I can see lots, lots of people on a green bank a big river.. And a quiet reflective feeling all
round, hey they are holding eggs lots of them..' and that youngish man there what's he
saying? hey that's better the volume just went up. It seems...as if.. Yes I am in a camera
lens..' Oh he's speaking again..' So a man of the Pharisees: Nicodemus..' came to Jesus
by night, Rabbi he said we know you were sent by God because no Man could do the signs
you do unless God were with him..' I tell you truly Jesus replied no one can see the kingdom
of God unless he is 'born again' how do you mean teacher Nicodemus questioned.? how can a person be born again?
In this world? Surely one cannot re-enter into their Mother to be born and by now being old..'
Jesus then answered again saying unless a person is born of water and the spirit he cannot
enter the Kingdom of God..! the young man seemed most ernest in his manner, the people
listened intently..' he put down a book? Bible Dumpty could read as he peered closer that he had been quoting from; and held up a large egg..' and said today we celebrate Easter this egg symbolises
the 'new life' you can have in Christ..' This is the time he laid down his earthly life in order
that we can live eternally in heaven with Him..! Dumpty felt full of emotion at these words.'
the symbolism of the egg especially moved him, he thought of 'being born again' of being
'Humpty Dumpty' once more..' as he watched a lot of the people went forward to the man..Saying we will accept him Joe.' So they must know this man Dumpty reasoned' This seemed to really please Joe!
and so they accepted this 'Jesus' still others went into the water and another man plunged them
deep under..' then he raised them up to cheers from all, Dumpty saw all this with
mixed up feelings..'
He thought he had best go back to the Owl; and enquire more about
these things..'
On the anvil that’s the dorp
The noon-day sun beats down.
So between twelve and two
Life in the place is suspended.
Doors to the stores are ‘toe’
And in their dusty windows cheap
Mannequins sleep with open eyes.
The air is still and heavy.
So in the sparse foliage
Of small pepper trees
Feathered creatures perch,
With beaks agape,
And wings spread wide,
Trying to beat the heat.
At the door to the bar
Of the ‘Royal’ Hotel,
In a sliver of shade,
A mastiff lies panting.
Inside the trade is slow.
Manne on barstools
Nurse brandy-and-coke.
House windows are closed.
In the darkened interiors,
Hidden from sight by
Slatted wooden shutters,
People flop on chairs,
Avoid all movement, in
Attempts to beat the heat.
At two a slight sputter of life.
It is ‘government’ employees
Returning to work.
The magistrate and two clerks
Dawdle back to the court.
The post-master and staff
Re-enter the GPO.
It’s still quiet at the ‘Royal’ Hotel.
With no shoppers the doors
Of the stores remain closed.
Under the shade of pepper trees,
Outside the shuttered Co-op,
And alongside the ‘Prokureur’s,
A bakkie and tractor are parked.
The ‘garage’ is deserted
Save for its two Caltex pumps.
From all sun-baked surfaces.
Hot, dry, and dusty air rises.
So every now and then
The wind-pump in my yard
Creaks as it turns a little.
In school classrooms
Pupils slump on desks.
Teachers no longer teach;
“Lees jul voorgeskrewe boek.”
Two-thirty! At last!
The school-day’s over
And also the worst of the heat.
Now en masse
Pupils scurry out,
Head for home, then
After something to eat
It’s back for athletics
On a grass-free track, or
Tennis on concrete courts.
Eventually the glowering sun
Sends streaks of colour
Across the western sky
As it slowly dips out of sight.
Then when twilight is over
The moon is bright and bathes
The town in silvery hues.
By nine o’clock
It’s cool and still
Save for the flutter of moths
Around the outside lights.
And I lie on a bed
Outside on the stoep
With my dog at my feet.
Opposing standards is one of Tim’s favourite past times
Not for the sake of difference but to cherish critique
to brush away his take on ignorance searching for his truth
Internalized self-evident and for the sake of future revelation
Creating creativity is far too laborious its
stifling not impulsive enough and stale for it
resembles conscious attempts of spontaneity
Contorting to conformity defeats Tim’s objective
togetherness is fine and so is shaping the world
but pluralism beats boredom and to follow a crowd
Oxymorons in tautological proportions repeated again and
once more affirm vulnerable souls who never put a wrong step in
front of the other as they move happily backward just the same
Conforming consecrating concreting confirming the evens
win far too often when odds are on blowing the norm
Cremating corrupt cretinous crap creates cohesive credentials
Timessa interjects that once every one shapes novel ideas and
follows a different tune in perfect synchronous ‘harmony’ what then
and thereafter but paradigms shift and diversions re-enter the stage
Archetypes polar opposites contradictions disagreements
compliment complementation fashion intricate concoctions
inaugurate new designs and refuse to create devious disarray
Tim decides that Timessa has a linear point yet would rather be a
lonely clairvoyant in the desert than to drown in quick-sands of time
Still he asks his feminine namesake to take a holy vow of communion
Two lovers with their own points of convictions are a miraculous convention
When they come together its everyone’s guess what circumstance and their
genes may result in with the magic flow of a near perfect union bubbling with joy
29th October 2016
1. To develop
and to maintain
resilient cooperatively-owned integrity
of services given and received,
ego/eco-therapeutic interventions,
and democratic peer health supports
that mutually coordinate
climate pathology prevention programs
and projects,
policies and proposals,
MeToo resilient procedures,
And integrate early PositivEnergy dis-ease interventions
in our families and climates,
and health-wealthing resonant schools,
our prisons and municipalities,
and our criminal restorative justice systems
and our unprivileged health-wealth organic networks.
2. We will invite
cooperative employers
to become network partners
in our ReEntry HealthCare System
by drafting and cooperatively facilitating
legislation supporting flexible ownership
and cooperatively marketed
and structured
and organically organized self-employment policies,
creating tax and regulatory incentives
to resiliently hire unprivileged health offenders,
and invite co-investment in cost-neutral benefits
to all cooperative ZeroZone
health-wealth investing residents.
3. Past prisoners,
competitively secularized,
reduced to objects in ego-prisonschool,
military-industrialized ballistic residents
are non-violently invited
to re-enter ego-health/eco-wealth
WinWin care
cooperatively managed with PositivEnergy Democracy integrity--
A seamless interdependent organic comprehensive,
cooperatively-owned,
ecoschool system of and for deep inclusive learning
ego-eco climate
health-wealth training opportunities
From four-season consciousness
of interdependent 4D RealTime
spiral dimensional literacy
Through post-WinWin gradual graduate development,
re-aligning WiseElder
self-governing ecological-polytheological
ethological health market trends
toward ecopolitical wealth
of bicameral outcomes.
We are agreed
to exit Sacred RightBrain Prison EgoSchool
to re-enter Secular/Sacred ReForesting HealthWealth--
organic lifetime EcoSchool.
EcoSchool ReEntry,
Where the question,
Do you love health
or are you healthy love?
Always seems to co-invite
Both/And Yes!
Shakespeare – for fun - Part One
To Be – in hell, to be able to understand Elizabethan vocabulary,
Or Not To BE – able to speak in that tongue, to penetrate Hell.
THAT IS THE QUESTION – Can Elizabethan’s Hell, her todays
come in colours ?, by this talking tongue, by hand or by a thoughtful,
dedicated upright man, who stands up, to do the very best he can
to bring your hell, those fires, passions, in every – in all ways
to the heights of delight every Hell would love to know, to tell of
until the day Hell’s fires burn out – all thought of are to burry
as memories become the ships that will ferry
all these experiences into a black hole abyss
where all will go and those who used to know, no longer miss.
To be - the fire !
Or Not To BE – the flame ?
THAT IS THE QUESTION - that will remain.
These thoughts of, – thought was a friend,
died long ago – in my thoughts to the end.
B. J. “A” 2
August 28th 2004
Shakespeare – for fun - Part Two
To Be – all that comes into hells gate.
Or Not To BE – trying to re-enter our fate,
THAT IS THE QUESTION – so what can one state ?
Down life’s many roads I have been – this man of age.
Many adventures I’ve seen – these hands turned many a page
yet these lips still want to french kiss the lips of Hell’s door.
Instead, alone in my room – music, books, movies, nothing more.
Cathartic - black inked words, upon bleached white paper - my fate,
expressed desire, my taste buds to savour, penetrating Hell’s gate,
reaching in , drink that pure nectar, suck sweet moisture from its well.
Life of youth - not youthfulness – gone, are the hopes, dreams and desires
of this aging, old man, daydreaming of days, a time to rekindle the fires.
This old man wants nothing more, than to be as before, erect standing tall.
That is desire, but unfortunately, fate doth require, one to take that fall.
The problem being, times destruction, keeps the desired at bay
and that beauty, once desired, has all but faded away.
B. J. “A” 2
August 30th 2004
If you’re one of the 132 people in this country thinking of committing suicide today
This poem is for you:
BUBBLES
You begin life in a bubble…in a quiet underwater room
floating effortlessly and safely inside your mother’s womb.
Once you enter the world…you quickly come to see
you are safe, protected and loved…inside the bubble of your family.
You grow up inside this bubble…inside that warm and comforting space…
believing that the world, like your bubble, is a safe and happy place.
But at a certain age you discover…although your bubble is a beautiful place to be
It is also very fragile and can be popped or broken easily.
Somewhere along the way you find within this bubble in which you are immersed
how death, sorrow, heartache or hatred…can make your bubble burst.
And once your bubble pops…say from hateful words so freely spoken
you realize you cannot re-enter a bubble…once it has been broken.
What you need to realize once your bubble bursts…even though it can’t be mended
is that it was just a bubble…and not your life that’s ended.
And what makes bubbles so amazing…after they’ve been broken or deflated…
Is how, with the warmth of your family and friends…a new bubble is created.
As this new bubble forms around you…and begins to float…then soar…
you realize this new expanded bubble is a little stronger than your bubble was before.
So every time your bubble bursts..allow yourself the time you need to grieve…
but know you’re not alone…know this is a grief that you can weather.
by turning to your family and friends…and creating a new bubble…together.
Yes, remember every time your bubble breaks…as you cry and scar and bleed
that you are surrounded by people who will help you create as many bubbles as you need.
You began life in a peaceful bubble…and when it’s time for your life to end…
you are meant to leave this world peacefully…
in a bubble of family and friends.
My conscious mind was
Shocked when
I realized I was slamming on my brakes.
There are
Three lanes of solid orange lights,
As far as I can see down the interstate.
A wreck most probably.
We began inching our way uphill, pretending to be socialized.
No one can see anything.
Maybe a trucker, but none of us in cars.
The cars at the top of the next hill are not fighting for lanes yet,
So I wonder how far we are going to inch our way toward our destination.
I call four people.
One is my husband.
Find out what’s happening, I tell him.
My GPS went on the blink this week; it won’t be any help.
Three of the people are co-workers.
I ask them for a favor.
All say yes.
One I have gotten out of bed.
Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch.
One car pulls out of the right hand lane, and drives like a maniac down the emergency lane.
A Mustang.
Go figure.
We inch our way to the top of the hill
I can now see a non-moving ribbon of orange lights.
My husband calls me.
Nothing on the news yet.
No empathy or patience now, I look for my chance.
Aha! A slow car.
I swerve into the right-hand lane, the one I never use.
We inch forward a few more inches.
Suddenly my car pulls a sharp right.
She and I race down the emergency lane,
Like there are hungry cheetahs after us.
I see flashing red and blue lights to my left
As we exit.
High above on the Interstate bridge
We are at a stoplight, facing an Interstate entrance ramp.
The cars going up this ramp are uninhibited; free to fly,
I watch five cars go up the ramp, ahead of me.
I swear at the light for not changing fast enough.
I marvel at the lack of cars as I re-enter the Interstate.
I am so early, I stop and buy gas.
Amazingly, I am the first car at work,
Beating everyone I called.
I love being an impatient risk taker.
It’s quite compelling how the felon becomes the victim expelling any responsibility or failings
just innocence sailing the calm then encountering harm that false charm preventing any lessons or altered behaviour progressively ascending confidence but cons are dense
carry on and re-enter danger circumstantial stranger explainer very unemotional point and blamer relying on superior intellectual properties to dodge accountability the impossibilities
silly little liars unpleasant deniers transparently apparent and to anyone present totally repellent
because people get found out
first round nailed it down
second round doubt found
third round knocked out
found out
no truth in your mouth
action drought
actual lout
reputation drowned
now lonely been disowned with your known true tone exposed everyone knows you’re fake you’re a fibber trying to dig out a sneaky sliver lying to strangers while you’re friendships wither and now calling yourself a forgiver acting bigger
with no one close because you’re a hoax
one of those grown up damaged blokes
savage jokes holding hope delusional loops and chapter hoops
denying you ever did anything wrong
too clever too strong
when really too weak to ever learn from
and dearly seeking but everyone’s gone
cus when truth comes through there’s nothing you can do
you could give up be honest be true but that’s too much so you stay a delude sticking to the story as if it’ll make it true how sad are you
a one dimensional lying dude who does what he does cuz he doesn’t do
the insecure ain’t pure they don’t tell it raw they invent it all ending a lonely individual
with intellectual properties lost logically a con lost of confidence in defence taking offence but never taken seriously having no friends