Long Re entry Poems
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Body has insomnia, soul and imagination have astral travel
Distressing eve, breathing cannot get comfy
My dreams follow prominent star lit path through cosmos
silver cord stretches from planet to planet
my reposing body pretends we are still in there
exuberant snoring at the shell, big pretense
soul and imagination hold hands, ready for nightly travels
angelic singers and delightful animals are found along the path
astral travel spies forever-after-ancestors, all with advice of course
we receive instructions from our spirit guides,
our power animals vie for attention – wolf, deer, and eagle.
I wake up sputtering, shocked I was asleep
Something had hit my chest hard.
Soul and imagination have returned.
Horrible landing re-entry.
Calamities…
assaulted by the Memorial Day tsunami
drowned victims & floating cars--
appendix detonates during the Season of Hell
haplessly hospitalized in the UT-Austin medical zoo
Delusion of progress…
recovering in the mobile home
plodding through texts of
postmodern pointlessness--
overcome with visions of nuclear annihilation
Life is a plunge…
sensory overload & self-deconstruction--
reading "One Hundred Years of Solitude"
pondering Camus’ only philosophical question
does Jung have the answer?
Re-entry into the (ir)real world…
Labor Day blues & academic angst
surrounded by yi(u)ppies--
mesmerized by Eastern philosophy
crushed by existential dread
The Being & Nothingness of Texas...
The Longhorns won/lost The Game
primal braying & primitive reveling
avoiding the orange phallic madness
evading beer bottles hurled by frat boys
Monstrous cockroaches inherit the Earth…
discombobulated by the sadistic heat
I ram my fist into a case of Lone Star
“The horror, the horror” as Kurtz opined
can I still resurrect myself?
Five packed together in one car…
a circuitous journey to South Padre Island
silent white sand & red star suspended over the Gulf
hypnotic waves & harsh words in the condo
the Odyssey is (in)complete(d)
From the Desk of
Doorturn Falconshow
President of Championship Committee of U.W.C.
United Wrestling Council (Stadium Anthem)
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Subject: Boutious Creatious Disputious Convey
"The Libretto Re-Gift."
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Masters Of Maneuvering
Moves and Masters.....
InDispute
______________
"Ornery"Moxiin Wilder V. ""Big Meanie" Dilton Manox
Maneuvers in question. (Maneuver Infringement Claus )
Bout Pending via mendeation.The exertion of control and
oversight over a sports Wrestling Maneuvers
to enforce rules and policy in Combat Sports.
Due to Mister Wilder's retirment and re-entry into
Combat sports, his manuvers and gimmic had
been copied or re-gifted, by Manox, The Cowboy.
Due to said likeness and manuver sharing
it has come to the Board of Directer attention
that the Petition filled by Dax Digglmen (Wilder's mangment )
that a Championship bout should settle the score. Filing for
a request of Contractual gathering has been made, if such
is seen fit by the championship commette.
All Matters are of contractual agreements pending the writting of
all stipulations of meetings.
as in where: when: Bout type(Includes stipulations, duration Perioding,
Stautus of Bout, Championship Bouts(pending winning Tiltles or Prizes)
Where to as in events or specail Events, Etc.etc.etc.
Due to the claims of Infrigments of manuvering the determination of whether
either man is gifting or sponging off the other will
be determined through a series of bouts
which will lead to a winner.
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Three hundred miles above the breathing blue,
I cut the dark in silence, clean and true.
A silver lattice locked in stellar grace,
One tiny ghost across the grid of space.
For years I held the downlink steady, bright,
A silent sentinel in the endless night,
Catching the whispers of a world asleep,
To bounce them back across the curved, dark deep.
The fuel is spent; the station-keeping dies.
The vectors slip, the quiet orbit fries.
The exosphere reaches up its phantom hand,
A breath of oxygen where stars expand—
An invisible friction, thin and cold and gray,
That softly files my solar wings away.
Four hundred down to three, the numbers slide,
A slow decay decreed by law and tide.
No hands direct the vector as it falls.
The thermosphere tightens its molecular walls,
Clawing at silicon with heavy breath.
My gyroscopes spin out, expecting death,
As I trade my orbital highway for the sinking moon,
And watch the constellation climb too soon.
Two hundred miles. The friction starts to bite,
A dull, hot pressure eating at the white
Of my reflective shields. The metal weeps,
As chaos from the lower air upleaps
Into my circuits. Code begins to fray—
A billion calculations burning away.
One hundred miles. The atmosphere turns teeth.
The plasma gathers, roaring underneath
My carbon frame. A sheath of blinding gold,
A thousand suns in one hot teardrop rolled.
The panels shatter, strip, and peel apart,
As fire drinks the memory of my heart.
I fall from heaven, a dead and heavy star,
To touch the ocean—sudden, bright, and far.
Farewell, goodbye, go forth and multiply
So long, be gone, it’s time for you to die
Just go away, do not extend your stay
You’re not required, don’t linger one more day
Your bubble’s burst, you did your very worst
So ‘See you round’?... Not if we see you first
We’ve learned plenty, don’t attempt re-entry
We’ve now got jabs: up yours, twenty-twenty
So take your mess, and leave under duress
It’s your last gasp, no more do you impress
You’ve had your fun, but now your day is done
So pack your bags... It’s twenty-twenty-one
1 January 2021
Contest: 2020 to 2021
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
Living on the surface,
dinner’s always served at eight
Living on the surface,
pride forever casts your fate
Living on the surface,
things always seem just fine
Living on the surface,
plays an endless pantomime
Living on the surface,
the church contains your soul
Living on the surface,
your religion swallowed whole
Living on the surface,
things never change that much
Living on the surface,
you can only look, not touch
Living on the surface,
the wheel only spins one way
Living on the surface,
each spoke a mortgage pays
Living on the surface,
love professes in a vow
Living on the surface,
real commitment not allowed
Living on the surface,
new doors stay locked and shut
Living on the surface,
your re-entry self-destructs
Living on the surface,
your reflection flat and clean
While just below the surface,
—beats the heart of what things mean
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)
Your choice my committee said. But not human, Bo added.
Bo is the head, and the most eager spiritual guide to get me to level yes.
Bo can get re-assigned when I hit mastery.
When he first undertook project me he said we have all the time in the world. Ha!
If you think heaven is complicated, wait until you have to choose your re-assignment.
Re-entry? No problem. Family choosing, another story.
Why not human? I asked Bo.
You have mastered the human level, he reminded me.
The others threw back their heads and laughed.
They did not think so, but Bo is incredibly persuasive, and he persuaded them that I had.
They knew they had been half-duped, but they liked Bo and me, and they wanted to move on.
There are only six levels to master after human, Bo reminded me. But you get to decide
Your own order. You have fifteen minutes to decide.
Apparently the committee had another recruit arriving soon.
I choose dog, I told them.
Dog sometimes does not last past puppy, Angel Six reminded me.
Angel Seven gave him a squelching look which is rare in heaven.
My only other choices were bunny, cat, deer, eagle, and dolphin.
Bunnies are often coyote food; I am haughty enough already, so cat was out.
I despise the idea of spreading lime disease, so not deer.
Flying appeals to me, but I do not feel mature enough to handle a beak yet.
Crumb! I meant to say dolphin. I turned to see if I could change it, but they had dissipated.
With any luck this reincarnation will not last half as long as the last one where I lived to be ninety-two.
"Colours in a Cloud Speak"
The colours
of a world
speak
no one
has time
to listen
The spectrums
speak like
music, lucid
like clouds
that pulse ultraviolet
in front of you
through wide open
windows, unavoidable,
some strange dream
your eyes see,
but do not
speak
the unbelieved
reels in the
unbelievable
we live
in these odd times
we observe meanings subliminal
that no one else
other than we
in our own moment
believe,
could see
on the peripheral
of even
like odd
evening clouds
in the small hours
that pulse curious
purple, then ultraviolet,
points of calculus
invading our
small space, try reasoning
watching us
as we move in
some strange elusive dream
a beacon
calling us
home,
some strange home
calls us crazy, we are
cats cradles cartwheeling
unreachable
we think, it exists
somewhere else,
other than this,
in the
in between
unseen
we exist
we dream
we try to live
what we see,
is not real,
it’s spun
like fairy floss
in the machinations
of the others' schemes
sugar tastes sweet
addictive, we are lost
in the after taste
wanting more
of what we
know is their drug
what we are taught
from birth to see,
is not the real of reality
our minds are locked
from time of rebirth,
re-entry
into
well-rehearsed territory
birth pains burning
the inevitability,
truth hits us
the gravity glitching
karma circles
Ferris wheels
that stop occasionally
to let us
get on
get off
it could be
realer
than real
the mysterious colour
hidden in clouds
we touch
in our dreams
we are like
comets falling
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
cat's cradle
noun
a child's game in which a loop of string is put around and between the fingers and complex patterns are formed.
Harry Chapin - Cats in the Cradle
In smoke and flames of mighty Apollo
T-minus fifteen seconds, engines on!
Oh, great ship of divine distance I saw go
when rocketeers on lunar ascent shone.
New Age Columbus kings voyage and realm
in your Saturn V rocket to the moon -
new worlds beyond and Earth men at the helm
when supersonic cracked its sonic boom.
I saw the face of Jupiter and Mars,
saw a golden eagle fly through deep space,
and saw Prometheus reach for the stars
with flag and footprint of the human race.
I raced home from school excitedly
and huddled the old stereogram radio -
the Eagle had landed in zero gravity
by the light of the Earth’s blue glow.
The flight of the zodiac did turn and burn
in lunar orbit out of the Milky Way -
to the moon and back I waited its return
on re-entry splashdown on the eighth day.
I saw the face of Jupiter and Mars,
saw a golden eagle fly through deep space,
and saw Prometheus reach for the stars
with flag and footprint of the human race.
Written: May 1992
Tall tale
Inhale
Exhale
Fire-sale
Entrails
Stop watch clock
Detail
Retail
Question
Charity
Joke
Shop
Cunning Plot
Accusations
Conertation
Deviation
Meditation
Presentation
Flip Flop
Resonate
Elevate
Procrastinate
Incarcerate
Deviate
Box off
Morphine
Dopamine
Vaccine
Injection
Firework
Dynamite
Pill
Postage Stamp
Taxes
Cheque
Cash
Paper
Bitcoin
Bill
Gold
Diamond
Jewel
How much have you got
Can you afford to loose
Can you make the roundabout
spinning stop
Drain the power from the main frame
Just how many times can the handmaid
escape
Before eventually getting caught
Crushing fresh red footprint track into
yellow snow upon a blue grass
landscape portrait
What's exactly lurking underneath the
bonnet hood
And have we sufficient rocket fuel left in
the tank
In order to survive re-entry in 1 piece
Apollo
9 - Dash . Dot - 11
OVER