Long Sink Poems
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Carpe diem.
Life can turn on a dime.
One moment you may be engrossed in a book and the next,
it's as though time...Time slips away, taking with it your imagination and civility.
Time steals your identity.
It fractures under the daily stresses.
Life....., OH life! It totally depresses.
You stand on an icy pond, frozen... sub zero temperatures.
Then suddenly it cracks beneath your feet, it ruptures.
You try to hold on, before long..... you're gone!
The cold, inviting-biting all the way to your very core.
All of your memories good and bad begin to soar.
Your last breath, your lungs filled with filthy pond water.
You sink down deeper and deeper, nothing else matters.
The last thoughts you pondered.
-What could I have done differently?
-What other options were there?... taking all precautions.
I have tried to see it through others eyes.
But linger the questions; what, where and why?
Carpe diem is a word many say.
When karma decides to have her own way.
Like a serpent, in the night!
Large enough to devour you, she may strike.
It is time that enslaves us all.
Good or bad, big or small.
Each decision made. Each word spoken.
A gift, a journey, a trial, lives stolen.
We may feel as though we are protected.
But the system is set, your minds redirected.
We live in the matrix. A maze, just like mice.
Derived, deprived. A roll of the dice.
Have you ever Russian Roulette?
One bullet in the chamber, cocking the gun. Life's regret.
With each and every breath you take.
Remember and know what's at stake.
Do on to others as you wish done to you.
Because the frozen pond is your life, it can crack too.
With all seriousness set aside.
Life and time, a wild ride.
Always remember karma may come.
Do on to others as you want done!
~mp (copyright protected )
By the white-bleached shrines of the exiled,
the clan—Eden’s aftermath—broke in despair,
the distance to the next pasture too far.
A weight settled in their chests,
a collective yearning to sink into the soil’s embrace,
to be still until the quiet returned and the will could mend.
They dispersed beneath the trees in fragile constellations,
like migratory birds grounded.
Ibex on high paused to observe them,
some upon the ridges, others lower down,
drawn by the sorrow woven through their speech.
Obedient children took the few remaining herds
to browse upon the sparse and brittle grasses,
a tender offering to their parents’ weary hearts.
And so they moved into the open light.
Under a solitary myrrh tree,
its foliage a living green,
a boy sat upon a great stone,
the sand below still holding the coolness of yesterday’s rain.
Clad in a skirt,
his robe drawn over his head and shoulders,
he sheltered his bare chest from the sun’s gaze.
He raised a five-holed gobeys to his lips.
Its voice, sharp yet of the earth,
carried the weight of ages,
a melody heavy with old grief,
conjuring images of men and camels
kneeling upon the bushy, parched land,
weeping for reasons unknown yet known to the heart,
before gathering themselves to stand once more.
Five black-headed sheep encircled him,
one a ewe suckling her young.
Farther off, a hundred others grazed.
His song was the only sound
that carried across the serene silence.
And there they stayed throughout the day,
listening from a distance to the boy’s chant,
and to the earth’s own song,
feeling their hearts slowly kindle
with the descent of the sun,
as the world softened into coolness about them.
A father is….
….that grouchy, cursing guy
who just banged his head
on the cabinet door
getting under the sink
to fix a leak
…that “voice” resounding
off the walls
singing – off key,
talking to the dog,
whispering
“I love you’s”
to sleeping children.
…that firm hand
patting you on the back
when deserved,
a bit lower at times
also when deserved.
…he is that “look”
that can inflate,
or deflate, you
amuse and confuse you,
stop you
in your tracks
to ponder – “why”
…he is the ears
that don’t seem
to be listening,
yet hear everything
…the eyes
that don’t seem
to be looking
but see “you”
when you can’t
see yourself
A father is
“that wry smile”
that grin
that says “I love you”
without words.
5/19/2016
submitted to – A Father is…- Poetry Contest
sponsor – Brenda Chiri-Carroll
A table filled with gross sample trays.
Surrounded by a poisonous craze.
Getting tired like a spider with claws.
Falling apart like howling and applause.
My emotions are one of those things.
Like underwater bee stings.
That shouldn’t exist in such an odd way.
It takes more than a siren to keep it at bay.
So sirens call out another time.
Then fall apart as if covered in slime.
My emotions are like a slingshot.
Or like rain in a bucket if it started turning hot.
The feelings captured by unknown laughter.
We have to decide after.
Leave the horror in the sink.
Or eat an ice rink.
In the end, I decided to poison my last bit of luck.
Tattered emotions like a hockey puck.
Innocuous craze.
And endless glaze.
My emotions could fall over like a jack-o-lantern.
Which feels unseasonable and worn.
My emotions are like a fly on a bone.
And this fly is like a sprinkle on an ice cream cone.
And a sprinkle could also be-
A penny on fire in a money tree.
Everlasting similar to-
A parasitic worm who lives life true.
Emotions are more than layers of spines.
We all have a crust that really shines.
Don’t try to peel the crust though-
Or something worse than tendons will start to show.
Emotions show up like that.
Rain bucket water, and boney baseball caps.
I sat in the kitchen, Mum stood at the sink,
the radio nattered away,
when all of a sudden she stopped washing the pots,
a Fleetwood Mac song started to play.
It was 'Albatross', “ We used to both dance to this,
a Slow Foxtrot, your Dad and me,
come on, grab my hand, have a go, learn the steps
it is easy to do, as you'll see ”.
We stood face to face, hand in hand and began,
as she walked through the steps like a pro,
I tried to pick up both the rhythm and steps
without crushing all of her toes.
We moved round the floor in a figure of eight,
by the end of the song not too bad,
and with a smile on her face, both eyes closed,
for a second,
she danced Slow Foxtrot with my late Dad.
Reigate Juniors, late July, in nineteen sixty nine
Miss Leggett crossed the room and slowly pulled down all the blinds
as one by one the summer's morning settled into gloom
the five of us sat quietly in the television room.
Power on, wait for it warming up, and then channel select
a picture slowly forming, didn't know what to expect
grainy image, took a moment for our eyes to work it out
and see just what the world outside was now talking about.
Shimmering in UHF scan lines at six-two-five
we watched a major milestone being broadcast to us, live.
Ghostly figure, hesitant, and slow, considered pace
was out taking his morning stroll far off in outer space.
Every action analysed, each purpose predefined
environmental figures taken, soil samples mined.
No more science fiction, science fact, this vision real,
our wondering just how for that one man the scene must feel.
His colleague now with camera, the U.S flag he plants,
a speech so calm, if it was me, I'd one sixth-g a dance.
Outside at lunch in the playground we talked of how we planned
in Tranquillitatis to be where Armstrong stood and scanned.
To boldly split infinitives and bravely seek new worlds
(but since this was a 'boys own' job, we'd have to leave the girls)
Fast forward now by fifty years, the space race still not won,
the kitchen sink is blocked and all the laundry's still not done.
The body aches and creaks and groans, old age coming too soon,
but inner child looks up some nights, and still salutes the moon.
August 13th 2015, for contest 'Childhood dreams', sponsored by Silent One
TO MY DEAREST BROTHER
On the quest to look for peace in a peaceful land
We embarked on a journey of no return
Looking for light to lighten our darkness
Tomorrow is way too far away; we left yesterday
The sea of our destiny is a busy road
We alone sail alone to our future; the destination
Strong winds of trials and pirates of adversity not minding their business
Always trying to be the obstacles in reaching our destination.
So many experiences out there to experience in this journey
What is adversity and trials that we cannot stand them?
So assured and bound to reach our destination as prophesied
God owns our ship; he can’t allow his captains fall prey to sea predators
Let’s believe in him and believe in ourselves strongly
Never you forget that I’m your co-captain as we will always co-operate
Will always be there with you to ensure that our ship doesn’t sink
will be too strong for them; not even the storm nor tsunami of life can stop us
Lordvip
September, 2013.
When we said goodbye to each other
all those years ago
I thought that I could get along with you
but now I can barely get through my days
I'm told when you find true love
stand and face it head on with everything you have
but sometimes standing in that spot can be so damn hard
when you're really running away
it's those unknown feelings you're trying to escape from
the fear of trying to make it work reams you
and facing it, huh that tends to be in dreams
it's hard waking up each day
that's something I never want to face anymore
what's even harder is how I don't sleep in the night
for thinking only of you
thoughts of you consume my mind
all the time
perhaps it was just to strong and we were to young
we didn't know really what to do
so even though we loved each other so
we decided to let go
I'm here today without your arms around me
I don't have your strength to guide me
I search for the deep gazed in your blue eyes
as you gazed into mine
reliving all that and wishing so hard
I could have it all again
the love I saw in your heart so many times
so what the hell is keeping us apart?
and now I'm left here to wonder
if you come close to feeling the same way for me
so damn much to ponder
yet I won't give up the fight of trying
to find you that easy
oh no, I can't
so I live for the day and the courage to say
everything that needs to be said once and for all
you have to know that even if I was to get burned or sink under
I would go through hell and high water
just to see and hold you again
God finally hired a mathematician.
He had become weary of bad news,
weary of watching the news,
reading the papers.
He told the mathematician-
“Give me the real numbers,
Give me the truth.”
So, the mathematician spent
days and nights and finally
he was done.
He spread out his papers.
"There is good news," he told God.
"That is what I have been trying to say!"
God replied.
"Tell me."
"Okay, there seven point seven five three billion
people here on your creation."
God sighed. "Whew, that’s a lot. "
"Yes, which actually works in your favor, sir."
"Good. Good."
"Okay, so let’s say each one of those,
even the babies who can at least smile
and the old who can as well
do five point four good things a day
that equals forty-one billion, eight hundred and sixty-five
million, eight hundred and twenty thousand good things
a day."
"Good things?" God asked.
"Yes, sir. Those are determined by a higher…
By you sir. But good. You know good."
"Ah, yes, of course," God said.
"These numbers are impressive."
"Yes, sir but they mean nothing."
"What!"
"I mean, sir, without being compared to anything
they have no meaning."
"You really are a mathematician."
"Yes, sir."
"So, I took all the crimes that occur daily
and then extrapolated how many
bad events may occur daily from that number
and added a percentage to be sure
and then added the number of
bad news stories in all the media
of the world…"
"And?"
"And it comes to
One million, one hundred and seventy thousand crimes daily
multiplied by six equals seven million and twenty thousand
bad events a day."
Big smile.
"And so?"
"Oh, let me explain.
The ratio of good to bad is 99.83 %!"
God leaned back letting this sink in.
A big smile came over his face.
"This is good news!
This is Good News!"
God rushed off leaving the mathematician
with his papers.
"Well, I can think of one good thing I did today!"
Radioactive fields where golden grain once grew,
magnificent churches, razed right down to the pew,
Kulak farmers starved out, four million of them dead,
free though and expression only lived in your head,
lives destroyed by camps, that archipelago,
how many lives vanished? We’ll probably never know.
Rivers all polluted by bad ideas deployed,
Russia learned it first hand: Socialism Destroys.
Even now in Cuba, the Carribean’s jewel,
people live in chains thanks to Marxist fools.
A country once wealthy off a grand sugar trade,
now drives around in junkers, all left from past age.
People still vanish if they say the wrong words,
so desperate to leave they swim an ocean that churns.
See that island prison and you cannot avoid
the truth of the matter: Socialism Destroys.
Glance to North Korea, if brave enough to see
a stark, ruined nation stripped of most of its trees,
it has a huge hotel in which no one will stay,
and most of its people struggle to eat each day.
Millions of them in camps, millions more try to flee,
you know things are bad when they run to the Chinese!
Despite their media throwing up poor decoys,
all who look still see it: Socialism Destroys.
And poor Venezuela, once rich and on the rise,
now it is convulsing and preparing to die,
so flush with black oil, now the rigs sit quiet,
once fed, now its people face unwanted diet,
female doctors whore out themselves to buy some food,
refugees are running to find some place that’s good.
By economic laws all tyrants are annoyed,
they cannot escape it: Socialism Destroys.
In our own ‘great’ cities we can see the same trend,
a path to poverty, a horrible dead end.
Once great Detroit is now a sad, crumbling pit,
San Francisco’s roads are covered in human sh-t!
Seattle will jail you for drinking form a straw,
Chicago’s a war-zones with little rule of law.
These once proud cities that people used to enjoy
sink into slow decay, Socialism Destroys.