Long Scatterings Poems
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Yo,
Dis poem is in honor of manic mistresses who war against the fleeting flesh,
Yo, dis poem is honor of schizophrenic Don Quixotes, swingin' at windmills of panic
stricken consciousness,
Yo Dis poem,
Yo Dis poem is honor of maestro's chasin' the muse of the logos made flesh,
In words, the only comfort they possibly know,
Flowing in a reverie of ecstatic epiphany,
Caressing solace, defeating the alienation of solitude,
The man sat staring at the fractured scatterings of a generation that had forsaken kindness,
And the woman saw him, and outstretched her hand, but the agent of chaos grabbed her,
Purpose, he said, purpose,
And the angels wept,
Yo, genius shining through the tears of fear made real,
Reeling, peeling, away layers of miraculous fish feeding thousands,
Miraculous words, healing a generation,
Begging Christ for a moment's rest,
From the war that wages within,
Men sing songs of triumph,
But courage is when your very mind won't have you,
And your heart, mocks you with its mercurial caprice,
Genius shining through hilarious and cacophonous laughter,
Outraged and astounded,
Dumbfounded and incredulous,
At how no one can feel this,
Pain that seems so salient,
Raging seas of foaming mouths in ascetic white rooms of institutionalized slavery,
Thieves profiting on the sound of crying children,
Praying, wishing that their parents would piece together the puzzle of sanity,
And rest in the greenhouse of sanctuary,
But God won't have it.
For this suffering is but a moment's mist,
In the calculus of eternity,
And in the end, a tree of inspiration,
Emerges from the relentless voices,
And the world knows healing!
She was taken by bears, that was the consensus,
dragged off in her sleeping bag; tracks confirmed.
Later the child was eaten, but not before she died of old age.
She lodged with the Grizzlies, growing sturdy, unusually hirsute
for a human girl, but pretty in a wide-bottomed way.
Frank Goddard and his hunting buddy Pete
had her in his sights one winter. He almost pulled the trigger
on his bolt action 30-06, but saw she was different and with her cubs.
They were leaf-mossed bundles of mewing need.
She was foraging for dead squirrels.
After one exceptionally hard year, an old bear warned her.
“We should have chewed you up, buried you in the forest
in juicy frozen lumps for when the hunger gnaws.” Said the bear.
She cried when she left the bear clan and her cubs,
but she stayed in the wilderness. Her limbs lost their ursine strength,
her body shrank, became twiggy and hollow.
A party of campers from Cleveland claimed to have seen her
buzzing through the tree’s, humming.
She grew wizened. No new leaf uncurled in her, then she died.
Bob Turner found her remains as he led a group of Eagle Scouts
over the ‘Big Hole’ mountain pass one summer. She had kept the
sleeping bag, she had made it her totem, a thing she wore like an animal
spirit. Scavengers had eaten most of her, but the bears killed the animals
and brought them back to lay beside her scatterings.
The Scouts took pictures and reported the find to the Montana Rangers,
but the Chippewa Cree had removed all sign of her death
by the time the Rangers returned.
Written: January 1st, 2023
Rumi's verse, "The desert beckons us as if it were the oasis,"
____________________________________________
An endless, lifeless moor—arid and fright.
A withering sun whips souls—toils to ignite.
Sans shelter or relief, ghost winds stand.
Dry air as shriveled wits seek relief sight.
Spurs appeared as ripples on the sand.
Hidden amid the tall grass of the land.
Quench your thirst at the watery oasis.
Our ravenous thirst for water will expand.
Amid a kaleidoscope of queries rapacious.
Life shrinks to grain of sand on daily basis.
Amid a dust of labor, a haven of serenity.
I was scared upon grasping the base hits.
We're like sand amid an arid sea of dexterity.
Southern blaze stores a feverish posterity.
As a tunic for our ethereal souls improve
Soar twice through the oasis of temerity.
Sky is drawn by daffodil and drifting groove.
Crisp air, soft breeze, and azure feet prove.
Bees buzz over heather, as marigolds rise.
Eagles trim their fierce feathers—rabbits move
Staring into gloom may uncover a prize.
For a dwarf area, glimpse an oasis of apprise.
This domain, this desert, endures best as gold.
It is highly precious than quartz grains size.
Scatterings of color that are scarce and bold.
Covered in a mixture of brown and green folds.
Such a proximity, yet so distant, yet so distinct.
We were transported back to the prior era, told.
A spring that flows with pure water hint
A lush green zone in the arid land succinct
An atmosphere devoid of noise and disarray
Away from adjacent noise or motion instinct.
Even in my words on the computer, I still like to offer a prayer before I fall asleep.
At times, I walk and wonder if my past is a prediction of my future.
I see your message as I study with others. Each time, there is a union of three people.
When I am alone, I pontificate on your message and your guidance.
All I can see is peace through my tears of strength.
It is the lubrication of my soul that I come to speak with you.
The person I love is far away from me.
It has taken me time to realize that they are the chosen ones.
You have revealed them to me. Yes, there are times when we both ask if we are meant for each other.
Stil,l you keep pulling us together and apart from one another as a divine yoyo.
Well, this is just proof that you are not rigid.
You tend to make those you know will be the destiny of one another to go through trials so that they can prepare others for their path.
Feelings of jealousy are only a reminder that we are destined for each other.
Jealousy is meant for those who are in love with one another.
You once stated that you were a jealous God/god, to the point where you would not share us with others.
All of the other gods have not been like you.
What they sacrificed supposedly is not enough.
You came into the world and became the flesh to pay for all of our sins so that you could have us again.
I see that you are in control, and we must become unified in you for the divine blessings.
Proximity is not your concern, as you have scattered many among the nations for your purpose.
These scatterings add diversity and unity as each will find their own.
The man will find the woman as both have different lives; however, you have made this so in an effort to make us more unified and stronger for the future.
Trembling in early fall’s chill air,
I feel a giant dread gnawing at my insides
as I draw closer and closer
to the truth I seek.
Halfway across the large expanse of grass,
I’ll soon be past the line of trees
separating our property from the secluded woods.
Fighting terror’s grip, I press on.
I think of the many times he dragged himself in late.
How he lay beside me on our bed
breathing hard
and how he always thought I was asleep.
In the morning came the excuses:
He had to work late; he was at the gym;
he simply needed to be alone and took a long drive.
Those things did not explain his labored breathing
when he came to bed so late
or the way he dropped his gaze away from me
every time I questioned him about his whereabouts
the night before.
I had started noticing dirt beneath his fingernails.
I caught him a few times
scrubbing at it when he’d awoke from an exhausted sleep.
Last night I waited by the curtained window
and what I saw has brought me
to where I am right now this morning
walking past the tree line, following a trail
into the woods – a trail of foot prints
the same size as my husband’s feet.
It stops suddenly where I see weeds.
My heart is pounding.
Fresh soil has been upturned
and then packed down again
and covered carelessly by brush.
Beyond this spot,
I see other similar large rectangular spaces
covered with scatterings of brush.
I raise the shovel (the same shovel, which from our garage,
had been clean last time I checked it and which now
is covered on its edges with caked dirt.)
He thinks I buy the stories he’s been telling me.
How I dread what I’m about to do,
for soon I will uncover
what lies
beneath the lies.
Written Feb. 20, 2017 for Contest of John Lawless
A view of the ragged woodland from
The window:-
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Leaves
Whose rusting hue,
Momentarily ignited by stray
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
Rainbow...
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating
Receding hills;
Here, arising, long ago, every waking
Dawning,
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly
Spills
Into the trickling replenishments
Of many gushing and silvery little
Rills.
Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully
Thinking...
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great
Flattening Orb
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find,
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its
Back on the social conflicts
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Vice;
Encumbering a soul with its petty
Squabblings,
Imposing upon with demands and
Avarice...
When placing unnecessary burdens
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome
Strife!
And still stood,
With hands outstretched upon the
Painted sill,
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost
Unawares,
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing,
Inattentively stared...
Until...
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
Awkwardly fled
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
Over
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which,
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate
finality,
Dejectedly hang...
Each draped aside of the cold
Reveals.
The shape of the world is not a man standing on a globe, or a man dressed in white robe, it is the shape of the heart that leaves you scrambling in the dark. It resonates through the machines and disrupts your personal dreams.
It climbs up the Chimney looking for something to prove, while scattering black sooth on top of roof. It leaves you stranded at the gate waiting on something that will never come and so destiny will have to get up and run.
The world stands aloof in front of me making silent music in the trees the wild duck is swimming in the pond with the little ducklings follow along. I watched the morning suns rises above the wall scatterings its heat all over the streets melting the asphalts underneath's my feet.
The road in front leads to nowhere , don't listen to them because they have nothing to share, mythology and legendary baked in the sun, you have to complete the task before the day is done.
I can feel your presences in my space, I am trying to tell you something about the human race, the clock will not tick until you get me out of the ditch, hard hands will not do, tender and loving hands will move you along.
If the garden could speak, Adam would come out crawling on his knee begging for mercy and the serpent would have licked the apple juice above his knees and then he would have understood the meaning of glory.
It was not a hard fought battle, it was just the conscience of man devouring the pestilence hiding in the desert sand.
I could feel the thumping in his heart and the agony that he felt from the start. He didn't want a ceasefire so he had to fight against his innate desire.
He was given an ultimatum and if he did not accept it his days would be done. He knew what the fight was all about, it has nothing to do with the people's shout. It is tied to years of history, the rejection, persecution and hate and fulfilling the promise that is tied up in the gates , oh how his heart breaks.
He wants to fulfill the biblical prediction holding David and goliath in two different hands. The philistine were bruised and left walking around without shoes, and on the final day he drove the philistine away and swallowed his breath and retreat to the war cabinet with a map, a pick axe and a hammer.
She was taken by bears;
that was the unlikely consensus -
dragged off in her sleeping bag,
tracks confirmed.
She lodged with the grizzlies,
growing sturdy, unusually hirsute
for a human girl,
but pretty in a wide-bottomed way.
Eventually she mated.
Frank Goddard and his buddy,
mistaking her form,
had her in his sights one winter.
He almost pulled the trigger
on his 30-06 Cal,
but saw that she was with cubs,
they were leaf-mossed bundles
of mewing need.
A calling wind demanded she leave
to live by herself alone.
She cried when she left the bear clan.
Many lean years past,
but she stayed in the wilderness.
Her limbs lost their ursine strength,
her body shrank,
became twiggy and hollow.
A party of campers from Cleveland
claimed to have seen her
buzzing through the tree's,
humming.
She grew wizened. No new leaf
uncurled in her, then she died.
Bob Turner found her remains
as he led a group of Eagle Scouts
over the 'Big Hole' mountain pass.
She had kept the sleeping bag,
and had made it something
she wore like an animal spirit.
Scavengers had eaten most of her,
but the bears killed the animals,
and brought them back
to lay beside her scatterings.
The Scouts took pictures
and reported the find to Rangers,
but the Chippewa Cree
had removed all sign of her death
by the time folks returned.
SPIDER SILLY CRAWLINGS UP AND DOWN A WEBBED WALL
THERE ARE GOBBLINS AND MONSTERS & MEOWLINGS TOO
JUMPING JACKS THAT POP AND LITTLE SLY FOXES THAT RUN
FOR GOODNESS SAKE BE SAFE, SAYS THE EVE OF GOOD WILL
SCARY DOLLIES WITH EYEBALLS THAT JIGGLE AND WIGGLE
A PORCUPINE CHILD WITH A PRICKLY DEMEANOR, OH MY !
HAUNTINGS & MUDDLINGS, SCATTERINGS & SCARINGS
THE KIDS IN THEIR GARMENTS ARE WILDER THEN RODENTS
HERE COMES THE STICKLIEST WITCH OF THE YEAR
FLYING ON A BROOMSTICK BEWARE, SHE DRAWS NEAR
SHE HACKLES AND CACKLES WITH DROOPY NOSE QUACKLES
MY KIDDIES BE CAREFUL, DON'T EAT FROM HER CASTLE
SHE'S GOT MONGRELS AND HYBRIDS AND ALL KINDS OF BREEDS
AND EVEN THE GOBBLINS ARE AFRAID OF HER GREED
SHE'LL TRICK YOU SHE'LL TREAT YOU, BUT DON'T YOU BELIEVE HER
HER CAULDRON IS READY AND SOON SHE'LL BE FETCHIN'
SPIDERS AND GOBBLINS , LITTLE ONES TOO, EYEBALLS AND TOES,
AND MAYBE , .... EVEN YOU !
COMPANION POEM TO :
ODE TO MYRRH TREE
So Myrrh stood in centre of desert
wild winds through branches delivering untruths plaited with sorrow
dust particles choking cacti
scatterings of sparse rain made
no patter ~
silence w a i t i n g
white became her trunk scrubbed with
daunting sunrays through sluggish day
undulating endless sand dunes …
panted
time miracle-less, no veils shielded
raw core, passive ~
lizards l o u n g e d
odourless her branches lost seduction
no oily lubricants for pear-shaped flesh
brittle bark snapped in lost loneliness
beauty a faded glory buried
d e e p
beetles spent by breeding atop
harsh grit of ancient desert f o s s i l i s e d
mystical myrrh magic was no more
her stump dissipating into fragments
sore
breathless desert discerned, exhausted
camels, lashes threadbare, kneeled surrender
tongues brittle papyrus into electrons
lips parched ~
lines of m e l a n c h o l y
Tree of kings, empresses and prophets !
where have colourful canvassed tents in
sandstorms gone with patterned serpents curling to tunes of alluring pipes,
smoke honey eyes, when limbs twined warm ~
sensual t o g e t h e r
the All-Embracing laments
languid
across desert’s fierce micro flames
sweat dripping ~ His amber inlays
melting into black beads
disappearing
soundless screams ache
starving l o n g i n g
ages of loveless waiting
what is beauty but terror flipped ?
wrinkles speak of struggle and beasts
time tightening grip across
opEN
s p a c e
scent slipping ashen dregs
as desert creatures cackled an end
stars dripping crystalline sorrow
myrrh momentarily disappeared …
___________________________
Published: Edge of Humanity Magazine:
June 26
Placed : 5th Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand
April 26