Long Ruing Poems
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February 4th, 1999 - two hundred
and fifty two months ago
Shana Aubrey Harris officially completed,
now ranks among status quo
lawfully, legally, legitimately in toto
twenty one orbitz around the sun - whoa!
Chronological benchmark ye did attain
plus major purchase of second automobile
(2002 Subaru Impreza) skill ye did gain
curious if family/friends helped ye maintain
being calm, cool, and collected -
quite a taxing acquisition, one need be sane.
Said significant decision
perhaps makes heart skip a beat,
but analogously, and literally
puts ye in driver seat
tending to maintenance
of vehicle sweet
figurative taste of liberation,
while familiarizing feet
to become acclimated
accelerating at velocity
with precious fleet,
obeying Sir Isaac Newton's
first law of motion.
More important gently
and timely to apply brake
lest police siren wails
finding ye to quake
thus requiring thee
to summon nerves of steel,
cuz friendly police thirst
he/she doth slake
issuing moving violation
scenario haint no nightmare
unless fatal accident occurs,
whereby family and friends attend wake
mourning beloved daughter
forever ruing grievous
loss for Pete's sake.
Even after time tested practice
acquiring consummate skill
experiencing diverse situations
manning steering wheel will
unexpectedly introduce during
different seasons frightful scenarios
analogous to getting
spooked by ghostly chill
ye must Carrie on as
the shining defensive driver
setting sterling pride to self
giving ego uber lyft till
ye get over the hill
much quicker than Jack and Jill.
Almost sixty years ago, my father
under suspicion, as a cattle rustler
Me a bit surprised
but it could have been as the title of a hustler
One day whilst in the dairy, my father with my brother milking cows
two young cops arrived to ask a leading question
Were you in such and such a paddock on such and such a day
if so what was your purpose, was put as a suggestion
They had evidence to support, that my father he did visit
That his actions in that paddock may be viewed as illicit
One cop from his pocket pulled a docket , that had been found
it was a receipt which displayed my fathers name
It was enough for them to investigate,
that's why to my father's property they came
To their leading question
what was it he was doing
I had a crap was his immediate reply
One young innocent cop asked my father what's a crap
They would have instantly known if my father said he was ........ a word that rhymes with ruing
perhaps my father would have had regrets if he had known what would later be brewing
NO CHARGES LAID
1.
Within Elysium Fields, the souls of the dead find their peace but there are those souls who do not think they deserve such peace. Those already within Elysium sometimes try to bring these sad souls into the fold by extolling the beauty of Elysium.
Oh, beloved grace, open sapphire eyes,
standing now on emerald green expanse.
You are glory, within a paradise
where sun brightly shines, beauty you enhance.
Shadows mar my view of Elysium
Regrets I carry from a life wasted
There are no oaks or pretty psidium
Nectar of Norse Gods I’ve never tasted
Emerald green carpet reaches the sea,
where azure waters to horizon reach.
Up high on a hill your villa shall be,
where love and joy no darkness ever breach.
In a hovel I dwell, ruing mistakes
Elysium’s bright lights behind closed gates
No joy in my soul, just torment and aches
For a life filled with sin, nothing placates
Swim through the beauty which awaits your eyes,
into life's new dawn Elysium sings.
Those who enter with love find paradise,
find the peace that Elysium love brings.
Coveting rewards for those who lived well
Is the destiny of my own making
There is no escape from torments that befell
To think joy had been mine for the taking
07/01/2019
(Collaborative Poetry Series.)
Thank you Carolyn for letting me share ink with you on this wonderful write. It has been an honour and a pleasure to work on this collaboration with you. You have made the experience so enjoyable and easy. Have a wonderful Monday. Hugs....Mike. XX
If the subject is appealing,
I’ll, at first, begin to read,
Though the facts with which I’m dealing
Are way more than what I need.
All the knowledge that I’m gaining,
By the time I reach page 3,
Can’t prevent my interest waning
And I’m sure it’s not just me.
Aren’t the editors aware of
When a story is too long?
For as readers, we despair of
Lack of reining in what’s wrong.
What I mostly end up doing
Is abandoning, mid-stream,
Someone’s effort, rarely ruing
That it might be gaining steam.
Still, I’ll stick with my subscription;
Through its pages I will comb.
What might cause a true conniption
Is an enigmatic poem!
Our traces are an open book.
The digital world cuts into
pieces the starry,innovative
thinking.
The digital world is the secrecy
of a frightened,tormented soul.
The freedom of dying freedom
will be inevitable.
The personal life is continuously
ruing,nothing but,only a visual
reality will prevails to dominate
our every day life.
The unavoidable death of death
will be definite.
"thoughtless thoughts" will blossom
,flourish.
Profound thoughts,thoughtful
consideration and a state of thoughtfulness
will be destroyed and die
The lifeless death of death
is the main goal of the visual
digital world.
The whole world will be an
enormous cell,where,ideas
ideals and thoughts
will be suffocated.
.
Existence is jam-packed with such deadly traps,
You would wonder why its Author made it so;
You never are sure and ever live on borrowed time
For its turns may any time deal you a terminal blow.
You breathe when you find you can,
And will not be there to raise a query
Regarding your untimely and unfair decease,
When short it’s cut your mortal merry.
You suffer and cry when you have a tear,
And still get more of the dreaded stuff;
You make new resolves but your will is weak
And so you forget them all in a huff.
You know the way you should go
But your legs are light and easy to tempt,
So you end up taking the wrong course
And end up ruing the resolutions unkept.
If a believer, you increase your bootless prayers
And hope that someone up there will hear your cry,
But find your very woes increasing day after day
Till you accept your immutable plight and cease to try.
Whether blind rich or church-mouse poor, every man has his woes;
The poor man is ever crying over all the possible opportunities lost,
The young will always have to contend unfulfilled infatuations,
And the millionaire will ever bawl over a business deal unclosed.
So rather than file on through the shortened pages of time,
Men should spurn all the care and feel happy throughout;
In plenty and in dearth, in love and in hate –
For why invest in care and still have to doubt?
Squarely conscientious, I unwittingly
sanction selfhood acutely triangulate
courtesy webbed geometry jeopardize,
galvanize pluck nudging contrived arc,
virtually courting temptation aware,
sans impetuousness compromises an
anonymous commingling, nonetheless
electronic fraternization enthralls mine
plucky chutzpah possibility intrigues
yours truly sporting impish grinning
smile across world wide web unsure
quasi cryptic communication decrypted
maybe imperfectly interpreting message
this enamored disembodied spirit doth
chance circling foursquare kibitizing
downplaying grand illusion spontaneity
gist ripples thru this human entity while
comfortably cushioned buffered against
disappointment accepting outcome - par
for the course amidst cyber spatial gulf
nothing ventured brings disappointment
more often than not, this solitary fellow,
a beetle browed fool on the hill smarting
over...he ne'er gathered rosebuds fruitless
ruing foregone opportunities, hence tho'
cocooned against adverse outcome revel
at fleeting giddiness affixing envisioned
smile upon unknown reader, or perchance
another veritable stranger, cuz amiability
need not be sole providence aimed at one
select web surfer, but extended warm free
greeting permissible allow one imperfect
troubadour to sprinkle pleasantries to any
person, whose scrolling intersects with my
genuine not "FAKE" aery mission to offer
abiding friendship e'en if limited to realm
of harmonized synthesized online reality.
Arduous agonizing affliction
doth unrelentingly assail...
aghast to exhale lest...lose
desperate clinging clutch
held by bloodied cracked fingernail
phantasmagoric tendrils constrict
stoppering me to whisper or wail
yawning abyss menacingly beseeches
hmm...release could immediately curtail
cumulative (lifetime's worth) travail
freefalling, pirouetting unnervingly,
unstoppably, unwaveringly... zipping
into infinite black hell hole ail
mince vanish as doth guilt - a hail
storm peppering psyche... jail
time for eternity excluded option
asper garden variety baby boomer male,
albeit the father of deux darling daughters,
the eldest (broke vow of silent communication),
she reached out after months long hiatus telltale
indications to accept genuine apology
her papa (me) rages against hurtfulness, he
affixed indelible psychological scars each travail
boomeranged backed to yours truly duress
during her impressionable years, she did rail
and rant previous conversation, the scale
innocent intelligent progeny, we begat
(myself and misses) financially ill prepared
to provide respectable accommodations
"dirt poor" status detrimental
with affluent MainLine
incomes luxe Lower Merion
living costs fateful design
neighbors cursed, ostracized, vilified...
unsightly unkempt property (i.e. unmanicured)
intolerant snobs didst malign
child welfare services called NOT to dine
but emphatic for papa and mama to align
dwelling safe and secure for minors
yes, I attest despicable living conditions
crowded house with Zison heirlooms
owners - malignant hoarders did confine
considerably reducing cubic feet,
they relations of spouse evicted us
ready to point carbine
at temple...quicker than noose
dead of winter 2010 near homelessness
relocated within "roach motel" decline
among our dynamics with offspring
livid with rage, asper an inferno no divine
comedy compounded by lascivious
behaviour - mine to hasten dateline
enduring helplessness, hardship
being alive plus brandishing knife
against self witnessed...I assign
poor marks as paternal parent,
who bemoans loathsome
impact...this papa gropes toward hotline!
Virility Imperiled Manhood Emasculated (mine)
No sense of accomplishment prevails to date
analogous to kudzu... inadequacy runs rampant
recurring theme extant within poetic endeavors,
and often discussed with assigned therapist (one
among many girls named Stephanie Dodds) do
GOOGLE search and see for yourself – similar
curiosity got the better of me, whose christened
name (Matthew Scott Harris), not unique to yours
truly, a poem, which theme pertaining to aforesaid
first, middle, and last namesake already written by
none other other than this scrivener) impacted self
esteem less so than inchoate nascently, pervasively
rampantly,... thrashing unleashed upon impression
hubble early (perhaps even in utero) formative days
of milne eeyore whinnying pooh wrenching, ruing
jackknifing...unsmiling, lamenting childhood's end
upon cusp debilitating psychological tragedy, where
whatsapp pining within me present mindset lodged
nexus, sans linkedin destructive buzzfeeding apathy
mired potential vitality (crying evinced powerful
lungs) quickly succumbing against brutish, nasty,
yet not short reign of innate oppression, fixation
abnegation with dereliction, asper self preservation
engendering feeble gesticulation harkening incipient
personhood crowdsourcing courtesy condemnation
damning existential insignificance motif possibly
adopted comparing not fancy free and footloose
demeanor toward none other than Boyce Brandon
Harris, thee papa, jack of all trades, (many taught
thru his own quick learning penchant), numberless
abilities + storied vocation - mechanical engineer
equalled one smart polymath strengths constantly
reiterated by mother (dearest long since deceased)
agog how papa excelled at most every endeavor,
i.e. vocational career at General Electric (aerospace
engineer) in conjunction with bajillion avocations,
hence finding his sole son (second of three progeny)
when only yeah high (a scrawny, skinny, spunky...
little boy) internalizing heaping accolades bestowed
strong, not so dark, modestly handsome biological
paternal parent with (rocking) round the clock timely
adulation, which praise papa similarly received soon
after blessed birth April ninth ninety twenty nine.
Deafening
rapid fire blasts
Shatter
the transluscent margins of
Silence
with
Harrowed cries
gasped
Howls
echo from one side to the other
Of the heart’s vast arena
with a repeating chorus
of ruing
Pleas
Of the gone lost
Groaning for home
in frayed syllables
Grasping
at last
To a measure of hope
Possible
in a faith’s apologies
And abiding love’s
Pronounced touch
of forgiveness…
** “I am the prodigal son every time I search for
unconditional love where it cannot be found.”
Henri Nouwen: “ The Prodigal Son “
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(c) sally eslinger 2/3/2025