Long Reaming Poems
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Written: June 1st 2024, For Unseeking Seeker Contest
"here I am in human form
but it was not always quite so
earth is not the only planet I’ve been to
through past life regressions I definitely know"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In ethereal glow of our final seconds on Earth.
Within a span, souls enisling in an isthmus berth.
As metamorphosed bees, clad in airy wings, soar
Ebbing to a cosmic abode of glow, for ego lore.
Embrace bequeath in gestalt of Earth shell.
Or is life devoid of anguish and pain in hell?
Will we be protean for reincarnation with blood?
Shifting, fully booming, owing to anodyne stud.
We shall soon reminisce days on remote sand.
Ethereal pathways that follow a celestial hand.
Eyeing raw cosmic shape sycophant eternity.
Then clung to destiny with my slight dexterity.
Our exhausted organism is narcissism-driven.
Dichotomy may dim soul light if delight is given
Mixed rhythms create an authentic, airy shape.
Pride divides, but love beats through crape.
A human-shaped crow stands against me.
After a lull, I realize how other crows may be.
It can evolve into nefarious aviator at a whim.
Either he goes by moon or sun—could be grim.
He flies across treetops as various ravens bow.
Bald winged—swear to the lord's fealty vow.
To fulfill their duty and honor shifting souls.
Embrace him openly, regardless of goals.
Some may imagine me as an angel today.
A mercurial creature with a noble display,
Mythical beings travel to Earth and arrange.
But tomorrow—I can freely delve to estrange.
Enigma is amaroidal for loving or valuing a voice.
Mysterious to the esoteric—familiar by choice,
I may ply suction forms reaming joy or sadness.
In my cryptic tactics—no space for gladness
Nearly recalling draws me in—lures me away.
But those are tears of a child, pure, in disarray.
A juvenile devil is invading my cerebral cortex.
Despite optimum strain, I may become a vortex.
Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town
Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town
In my little town
“My Little Town” by Paul Simon
My Town
I walk the streets of my hometown,
the prodigal son returned for a visit.
I wanted to see the old place after
forty years away.
My first stop is the place where
the death spiral began.
The old brick building that housed
Johnson’s lingerie factory long abandoned.
Countless generations had worked there
and jobs were plentiful and easy to get..
But government regulations, outrageous union
demands and cheaper labor overseas
caused its demise.
I walked up Main Street, which was a
bustling market place when I was a child.
Now, all that remained were CBD joints
and tattoo parlors and a coffee shop.
First the pharmacy closed, then
Mason’s Department store, followed
in quick succession by a host of
other long-time establishments
as the locals began the exodus
to a new land of milk and honey.
The few reaming locals looked
like ghosts wandering in a lost world.
I’m ready to move on as there is
nothing left but the dead and dying
back in my little town.
"L o v e lives
in the archaic abyss of an
endless ocean, where wind and waves
rhyme with the blues in scented stillness"
As echoes of the silent shore reveal secrets~
buried in the deep-blue spine of the
creased, cold sea, I search for lyrical cues,
dreaming on the lurid lips of a salt-kissed
enigma, painted with bliss-strokes of sunset eyes.
For sometimes, when time tricks euphoric twilight with
greed, amidst the quiescence that hydrates this
healing soul, I find myself drifting to a mythical valley of
iridescent violets, floating like glistening
jewels seized from the warm arms of skylines. As,
kismet stars sprinkle golden tears upon pages that
left me comfortably rhymeless, breathing in
metaphors of memories lost in frozen mists,
nestling within hushed songs of the mourning bluebirds…
O beloved moon, swirl with me to a rosier phase~
perfumed with Aphrodite’s elegance,
quenched with spring allure of Ades’ petals;
reverie of timeless rivers
streaming with heartbeats of twin flames,
tied to an amethyst ambience,
unraveling a cosmic connection
veiled in vanilla orchids…and
when the music of the ocean ricochets into
xylophone chimes and nostalgic notes,
you’ll remember me as your ballad, forever sealed in,
zestful conch shells, until the sun no longer tastes my poetic pulse…
Acrostic - William Patrick Darnell Sr
Willingly loving people as God would do;
Intelligent funny, wittily making you chuckle til blue
Listening with his heart so others can speak their words
Learning what he must, trying not to make a mistake
Ideally, he wouldn't live as he has it was his to make
Aiming toward his stars for some solitude at a sway
Minding his own business, walking down this lonely road.
Paying it forward, for there's no greed to his soul;
Always praying for others and their needs as it foretold
Tries to do what's right when this world is losing its way
Reaching out for a conversation with some play
Ignoring politicians as they do America wrong
Chooses to see and take people for who they are
Kind, mindful, and thoughtful because that's just who he is.
D-reaming dreams, he longs for the life he once lived;
Asking God to Bless his people, always as I pray to Him
Real as he can get, yearning for his late wife, she REST
Nothing fake about him, ask God, through your hearts
Element of surprise is his wisest decision made
Loving himself finally, he hasn't done it for a long time
Learning as he's chosen, with Christ Jesus, by his side.
So it's time I find an end to a good old country song,
Respecting others and living out my days.
(Patterned off the famous folk song 'Men of Harlech,' which is in the public domain.)
Men of freedom hear them wailing,
from the truth they’re always quailing,
scared of work or real travailing,
not like free-born men.
Men of freedom stop their screaming,
and their socialistic dreaming,
give them all a much-earned reaming,
all those wokish men.
Slavish souls disgusting,
cultish minds untrusting,
silencing all who dare speak true,
because inside they’re nothing.
Men of freedom don’t surrender,
these fools are brainless pretenders,
cannot tell a him from a her,
not like free-born men.
Men of freedom must hold steady,
keep your A.R.s clean and ready,
when time comes make your aim deadly,
fight like free-born men.
Take your boot and on them impress,
recall sic semper tyrannus,
tyrant scum will all be banished
faced with free-born men.
The ‘elites’ insulting,
they’re pedos revolting!
Living in an endless fear
of free-born men assaulting!
Men of freedom give no quarter
to those who would give us horror,
save your land for sons and daughters,
fight on free-born men.
Dreaming of just you, Red wine bottle with beef stew.
Eating but who knew, And two desserts turned us blue- My how our bellies just grew.
Date Written: 5/18/2021
a/a/b/b/b=5/7/5/7/7
Note: Acrostic Rhyme
5 Place
TANKACROSTIC Contest
Judged: 6/6/2021
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich