Long Retains Poems
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(on rhyme, and Its refusal)
Nature does not govern; she proceeds,
a rhythm older than our needs,
sufficient without plan or plea,
exact where we refuse to be.
Conditions hold while balance stays;
disturb the cadence—systems fray.
No warning rises, none is sent;
the cost arrives as consequence.
We learned to count, to name, to prove,
mistook precision for the move.
Laplace reduced the sky to parts
and mistook silence for an art.
Entropy kept faithful time,
charging loss for borrowed form.
Nothing vicious in the rate—
only patience we misnamed as fate.
Gaia tuned the seas and air
by feedback, not by thought or care.
The world endured because it flowed,
not because it could be known.
Then entered us, with finer knives,
dividing rhythm into lives,
cutting measure into rule,
calling interruption “control.”
Here the poem breaks—
not from error,
but excess.
Too much intelligence.
Too much correction.
Too many hands improving what was not broken.
The leaf retains its visible design:
vein, pigment, geometry.
The exchange is gone.
No method restores it.
No theory forgives the cut.
Animals meet limits by resistance alone.
They stop.
They yield.
They remain.
We persist.
Nature does not punish.
She withdraws coherence.
Climate keeps the account.
Chemistry enforces the terms.
Extinction enters without malice—
only completion.
What cannot rejoin
its sustaining rhythm
does not return whole.
The law does not ask
whether the cut was careful.
The law continues.
Swathes of house strewn hills bathe in after storm sunlight brave
Shocks heavy clouds, knocks gloom away, spotlight locks
Bay's grey sparkle, renewed day brightens, strollers stay
Proud steel bridge carries loud traffic witnessing lifting cloud
Cornelian Bay, revealing lopsided boat sheds remember fish reeling
Domain central space retains natural bush, wildlife remains
Mount Wellington counts months of snow cap, close to town
City called Hobart, unassuming pretty place, subject of this ditty
Sandy Bay, scenic, handy to City, it's here if anywhere to dress dandy
Battery Point deserves flattery, colonial cottages, harbour view smattering
Mona, incredible art loner, architectural wonder, prominent owner
Views from too many places, water inescapable, fresh blue
Gazania's cheerful mania sprawl on steepest hills of Tasmania
Devils ravage meat, dishevel opponents, fight decides levels
Top to tail drive pops frequent amazement, close sea stops
Road journey slowed only by photo moments, memory furrowed
Isle induces many a smile, slow pace invites visitors stay a while.
25th July 2020
Observe Contest
Funam Makanam
Three Rhymes per line
Written: July 6th, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
*****************
Line of inquiry: fact or fiction? what does it mean in actuality, to be touched by spirit?
Syncing retains aurous, aglow affection,
Restore it, and be sure it fosters motivation.
Mountain spiral dynamics and wet reflection,
Glancing up at the stars, for ormolu connection.
My visceral Gaia is where you now dwell,
I am in the wisteria vicinity of your sacrum.
Given karma in our minds, let it beat as a drum,
Severed up and down, then split into shells.
Both male and female, Earth and heaven,
Oh, the saga of time we bore this burden.
Reinstate this vivisection, and complete the link!
Pouring myself into you is just what I think.
Tonight, I drew your kundalini awakening action,
Coronal crown does not lend to construction.
With this eye, I grasp the alabaster overcome,
The following day, as if it had already come.
A holy snake acts as a trumpet to our ears,
He wrangled himself into a marmoreal tip.
We also received our Pashmina chemistry strip,
What have we grown, crafting musical fears?
The water spring will quench my thirst,
I will recall the soliloquy, amethyst, of past burst.
The Sanskrit plexus will be toggled then,
With sapphire sepals pouring from heaven.
I will join the marigold glory with love,
Ancient Phoenix unleashes dark torques.
That it will uncover its solivagant way to storks,
Bringing seraphic peace to mankind from above.
In the middle of a street
In a nice suburban town
Sits a house unlike the others
And deserving of renown.
With some unexpected turrets
In the way it was designed,
Just one glance brings times medieval
To the forefront of the mind.
For it looks just like a castle,
So all passersby will stare
Wond’ring maybe if some royalty
Somehow’s residing there.
I would love to see if inside
It retains that cool allure,
But from visiting some real ones,
There’s one thing of which I’m sure.
If you don’t have many servants
And you’re living in a castle,
Cleaning towers topped with turrets
Must be quite a major hassle!
… do you love me, woman
it is cloudy in this street
as that sandalwood perfume
stretching between our arms
here everything of it is gone
with the floods and good
you are the only tree left behind
and love is the dewdrops
even the axe that cuts them
into pieces, remains a noble soul
falling slowly from the last leaf
to the bare ground of mire
somewhere in the mist behind the bridge
a brain is smouldering with the request
to return this soul
to its former position
and retains its fragrance
in the trap, unaccompanied
thinking about a lover is sweeter than kissing
because love is not feeling
and I cherish that moment in itself
when I am alone but through a subsequent passage
that’s why I illustrate
your perfume filling the dig we create
woman, do you still love me
I’m one of the connexions, though really why
it should be, after all, is none so apparent
your body is a cloth I wear
in this cold weather I’m
struggling with my broken left leg…
My heart a pouch of rich wine overlays yours
a drop of blood spilled over an arum lily
waits with longing intense, retains no tears
as it remembers its cringes of final fear when it
jumped into your chest of steel, smell of fruit juice, water and old leather all around
My soul lays naked in a room of light while your music plays next door
two plumed serpents dance slow dances to rhythms of drums and pipes, notes of knowingness, sounds repeated
I listen again and again
Spacious a white room waits aged and innocent
in a no-zone forest of mushrooms, poppies and pebbles as the piano vibrates with silence
while Goddess does not speak of a mission that never ends, watching for symbols that appear and vanish while progress moves worse than a snail with a footsore over splintered glass
Surrender struggles to be free !
Drops in space hung on Venus threads
breasts heaving and falling, passing tests of temperance, strength, solitude
swallow death and darkened silence deep
in a psyche of five thousand years
Across oceans of space my thoughts travel
not knowing whether they reach your light or
hermit in your head or the warehouse in which
you play with waves of froth on dirty sand
seals and gulls glide and shout
A lighthouse looks on still and sure
muck in the harbour awaits an embrace
fried chips beckon and call to fill my open belly of waiting Sun as love struggles for freedom on a higher plane with yours in ether on a wall I read
Still you sleep a hundred thousand sleeps of
fear and watchfulness
in the distance runs Skeleton Woman with tangled bones to be untangled
knowing that long ago she completed her work
of inner peace with honours
Spartacus and Helen looking on
I wait not for you alone but to fill your Heart
for another work of love, to drink your tears
slate your thirst ~become one, two, three to
ten again as dough rises with surprises inside
eggs fresh full, two yolks and cream to be
eaten on a jetty of harmonious voids
Love lost and found, lost and found
all over again
April decorates Nature
with snowy festivity...
to resemble a season so wintry;
will the unwelcome snow head for the shore?
The very disappointed skies gleam unpleasantly,
and the saturated earth weeps in agony;
who commanded the wrath of the tempest...
when winter supposed to be laid to rest?
The snow's showers cover the budding hills
quicker than the gelid rain of winter;
far and away...hope is illusory and brief,
and the questioning mind deflects its early coming!
Does this season have a late beginning,
or is it caused by an unknown factor?
April has smothered winter and hasn't protected
the trees, flowers and plants from frost;
almost everything has perished in its ferocious course,
and the desperate farmer deplores an harvest so scarce!
Inside is so cozy and warm, the gusty wind
is heard through the fireplace that retains the heat
of the crackling logs underneath;
some folks cherish moments like these!
April decorates Nature
quite beautifully and impressively;
brutally or unfairly...
it becomes an inevitable rapture!
Adam of Earth
The curvature of his smile
A quiet strength of gentleness within the eyes
When I glance upon his face
The waves of his arms flowing to his majestic hands
A profound peace that enraptures our souls
As my hands endure the strength
When he retains me close to him
Never have I been so captivated
By someone before
My surroundings have been opened up to a new light
A different maginitude of life
He has unleashed the insecurities of my path
That I so securely hid within my locked chest
Behind this clown mask
Allowing him to invade the privacy
Of the crevasses in my closed doors
To which no creature has entered before
Still he welcomes me uncannily
Knowing the outlines and graphing of my past
One could never concept an existing life as this
That love not judgement intercedes their eyes
Visually looking at what lies beyond the skeleton
Not halting by faults found
Being blessed with this adam of earth
Is more than I emotionally deserve
Not knowing the extent of my actions
Which generated this unimaginable gift
Humble I am, to have a soul of virtue
For us to be chosen together at this moment and space in time
When true love is sought to be a treasure
A fading quality of life
I will wrap myself around this presence
Embracing the fragility of its worth
Guarding it safely to my heart
And never withdrawing this Adam of Earth
I wrote this poem for my husband...he is my soul mate and best friend.
They turned me away from Hell's Gate
Said I was too much of a reprobate
Said earth deserved me, and I deserved it
Besides, demons were on strike, wouldn't fire the pit.
So I went back to earth, a few memories erased
Looked for money to steal, lives to waste
Set up shop with like minded hoods
Took what wasn't ours, got away with the goods.
Then the strike was over, so a demon made a sell
He said we have a spot for you, down in hell
But I replied, "the government steals more
At least I'm aware I'm corrupt to the core."
"Twisted souls parrot the latest dreck
"On the turn of a dime, good men shot in the neck
"Take the other guys first, then we'll talk about me."
The demon thought, then had to agree.
So I may look old, but I still steal
Hurting the little guy retains its appeal.
My friends are hoods, and thugs, and punks
But hell can be selective for the other skunks.
The demons never came back for me
Hell was overflowing, over-capacity
So many applicants, such a waiting line
Before they get to me, it will be a long time.
Without 'one blood', God-made blood, people would not exist; no, not any.
However, out of 'one blood', God-made blood, has come the population of many.* It was what God intended all along, His loving purpose, His desire for one big family. Notwithstanding, God still wanted mankind to form countries, each with sovereignty. God insisted on personal freedom, but because of our rebellion, there came disunity.
Our pride and arrogance, jealousy, and selfishness destroyed any hopes of a symphony. God chose free-moral-agents; we chose to enslave each other at the expense of our liberty. We separate by color, creed, and greed; we divide by face and race, as hate stares from the balcony.
It was Lucifer who disrupted love and peace in heaven and brought to earth disharmony. Satan, cleverly disguised as a serpent, introduced to the world lies, deceit, and dishonesty.
Mankind still retains that one God-made blood, but our hearts have become one big travesty. Mankind has selfishly attempted to build a utopia, united nations, and even the great society. It would be great if we could create such tranquility, but unfortunately, we have not the ability. We always fail miserably, because we fail to realize that only God can create such a divine reality.
071320PS *Acts 17:26