Long Sisyphus Poems
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I saw, indeed, aside a Sisyphus – stone
A lonely old little daisy standing alone
Fading and dying and nearly decaying
Closer to the brink of its grave bending
In her heart seemed a caterpillar, hanging
Suffering its final stage of pupating
Chrysalis cocooning grasping rasping
Jumping, humping and its fluid-pumping
Fast, haste, rapid, relentless, impatient
Fluent, steady, stringent, persistent
The start of its life, it appeared
Could, rather, be its utter end
It really did not want to die
Rather, it yearned to survive
This was the great reason why
Its undergoing tensions high
All these difficulties struggles and strives
Pains and agonies and agitations
Struggling, striving, senile suffering
Death, resurrection and life-giving
It emerged into a beautiful butterfly
And flew away above in the colorful sky
What a meticulous metamorphosis!
Birth-death-resurrection life-synthesis!
it was her normal state of affairs
she smelled the cacophony of blindness
touched an overflow of drought
listened to audible brightness
tasted a crescendo of palpations
until she was so out of tune
with everyone else’s senses
that fragmented perception was joined
her friend uncovered shrieking silence
saw lush tastes in his mind
heard prisms of lightning
touched fragrances in his ears
felt anaesthetic pain an
tuned in to her ‘misperceptions’
together they would conquer
shadows mirages crescendos
refrains of a common chorus
combined healthy madness
illusions delusions
and untold stories of
tranquil unrest
stagnant motion
anosmia’s scents
hysterical blindness
unspeakable conversations
serious laughter
mosaics of beauty
squared circles
and ellipsoid parallels
when they mixed their blood
a tattoo went up into smoke
only to ascend a slope
of two rocks growing moss
with Sisyphus in reverse
the label of ‘other’
vanished into open closure
periphery became their bi-polar centre
surreal distortion gathered clear contours
and the silhouette of bedlam
granted them freedom
beyond any restrictions
she felt his voice
saw his speech
listened to his aura
while he smelt the touch
of her skin before they
made love once more
in total composure
and ecstatic foundations
upright they fell into each other’s arms
knowing that neuro-diverse means special
and gifted was a fine quality to share
10th September 2021
our stars are luminous wounds upon the cicatrized sky,
breathing twin moons in the pupils of nights without gazes,
and my verse is a prophecy already forgotten by clear future,
the naked mystery stands nude beneath its own fine curtains...
for to those who sleep deeply I have shouted in eternal whispers,
that on my earth blooming with white skulls of daisies,
I am a hero collapsed beneath the weight of my own victory,
a necessary superfluity, an absence that persists always here...
once to friends baptized with wines erased from memory,
like a Sisyphus drunk on his own continuous torrent, I local,
I carried their joys in goblets shattered by too much drunkenness,
rolling my eyes over heads without sky, never seeing
their disappointment too deep to rise back to the surface...
to some who drag their boulder-skulls on hills of forgetting,
confusing the mountain with the thought that climbs toward desired peaks,
when we shall inhabit upright tombs, cold corpses on duty,
serving as thoughts buried in hearts that beat slowly death,
numbing the intervals with the nettles of their bitter pleasure consumed,
this wealth of the immortal who dies slowly of too much life,
the unique one who spins his black shadow through dense darkness,
propped in my solitude populated by silent phantoms,
like perfect tears that flow toward the parched earth,
idling in my trembling eyelids sleeping without sleep,
and aching only when from deep dreams I look inward,
dream upon dream pulled out from my own hollow skull,
fashioning from my soul one cursed by all... yes,
who is close to my ear deaf to all sounds,
a zoological park of movements frozen in eternal waiting,
with stuffed animals more alive than people who breathe heavily...
roses and roses around
unveiling scarlet drops
echoing voices where
raindrops fall
a rally of imperfection
painted into ..
tapped touches
sudden whirling whispers
secretively drew blood
prickly feistiness thriving in
haze spun surroundings..
twinkling doves suffocating in
an angelical sisyphus halo
tender moonlight bringing
an eunoia swiftest remnant
nemesis against armies
of withering shadows..
ebullient blooming daises
manipulating fluorescent beauties
with a frantic fabricated aurora
in a frantic peony mixture
luxurious mystery somehow
reminiscing rumbling
engraved doom..
aroused slithering vines
piercing whilst communicating
spitting needles
crystalline skies snickering
above lands full of
pitiful peonies..
but..
sparkling flutter butterflies
once whispered to me
a soft hymn lullaby;
when ethereality our nature
becomes brutal uncomforting rays
whilst enchanting asters
disguise hiding the
unavailing daises ..
stars, dimmed
dwelling in perpetual
solitary cycles shewing
forth agony in pitfalls of clouds..
fragile sagacity dandelions
parched evermore
darkness grasped a bud
n plucked it from weary soils..
shall it come a time
to flee
You might have blisters on your hands from all your manual toil.
You may be climbing up a pole with an electrical coil.
Could be a produce vendor shucking husks from the cob.
It’s just a job.
You might have permanent employment, or only work from time to time.
You may have ring around the collar from industrial grime.
Could be working in a hotel kitchen spearing kebabs.
It’s just a job.
You might regard it a profession, a career, or a chore.
You may be forced to punch a time clock when you pass through the door.
Could be an undercover agent, or a thug with the mob.
It’s just a job
You might be laboring like Sisyphus for minimum wage.
You may possess a golden parachute for late middle age.
Could be widgeting the fittings on a thingamabob.
It’s just a job.
You might be entry level ready for the corporate sphere.
You may be hoping to retire in by the end of the year.
Could be cleaning up a crime scene where the vic was a slob.
It’s just a job
You might be licensed by the state to practice criminal law.
You may be framing out a condo with a circular saw.
We all need to make a living, even trash-talking snobs.
It’s just a job.
i work hard, Sir
and well, Sir
but you said
it was not enough
So i worked harder,
Sir
still well, Sir
but you said it
was not enough
So i worked faster,
Sir
and longer, Sir
but not so well, Sir
and my kids forgot
my face.
To my disgrace, Sir
you said the quality
my work
had dropped
and still was not
enough
So i work harder,
Sir
still well Sir
and wait for the
day, Sir
with your behind me,
Sir
i step aside, Sir
and let you taste my
rock.
MCMXCVI - This
originated as I was
at my workstation on
a glorious Sunday
when i should be
walking through the
changing colors with
my family
OF AN EBONY HUED MID-SUMMER NIGHT DREAM
(Apropos of We Kings, Queens, and The Fiery Furnace)
Indeed, this is a day the Lord has made:-
Considering last night’s revelation dreaming,
Waking up into this day the Lord has made,
I must enjoy and be glad for being still vertical.
Although “The Great Dream” may have been deferred,
Indeed, it has not been forgotten and deterred.
Oh, they may have murdered its dreamer, but
His and our liberation dream is immortal:-
Looking out over the horizon of our challenged life,
It is realized that we Exodus people have come a long way;
Survivors of the blood-stained shadows of horrific death:-
And we have come this far on the sojourn by faith.
Yes, we have come this far by an inherent faith—continuing
To maintain and sustain us in the present perils of our lives:-
And as African-Americans, surviving in this deemed “promise land”,
We’ve had and continue to have a special kind of relationship with God.
During our living experiences here during and after debilitating slavery,
We’ve seen, heard, felt, and responded to the Word of God in ways that
Are unique to us as an African people of God; for indeed, as chosen ones,
We’ve always been able to sing and praise God in truth and in holy spirits.
Reflecting on the truth of ourstory, it is realized that we are of a people
Whom many would have expected to have stopped singing and praying
A long time ago; yet, from generation to generation, we’ve just kept on
Singing and praising and trusting in the love of God and His redemption.
Indeed, sacred revelations continue to bring us from extermination
To exaltation, from degradation of dignity, from nobody to somebody;
With wide wondering eyes on the prize, we continue to sojourn onward
For our eyes have seen His glory as we have continued marching in His truth.
Indeed, we not only believe but know that in the savior’s favor
Life is and while our perils may endure here a little while longer,
We know that a liberating joyful stay here on earth is on the horizon
Promised by that very present help to those who live in good trouble;
Thus, let us not be exhausted nor deterred by the ghost tyranny
But with undying faith and spiritual strength, let us victoriously
Demonstrate that we are not of the children of Sisyphus’ fate;
But living reflections of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego:-
Anxiety
Die in me
Subcutaneous illumination
Lost to the outer radiation.
Anxiety
Die in me
The chronometer chokes with ghastly hands
Laced around my larynx.
As my nerves grasp the bedsheets
Tearing twin threads into tatters
Turning torn strips into tether’s end
Lost in the labyrinth of rumination.
Ruination and whispered desperation
Like Sisyphus, I shove the stone of dread.
Only to see it roll back, crush my head.
There goes my broken TV.
A black hole sucking consciousness
Smashed under the weight of worry.
My boombox without batteries
Refusing to sing, killed by manic panic.
My crashed computer full of sick
Pixels burning my retina.
Defenestrated
I have seen too much.
Anxiety
Die in me
Oblivion, my sight.
I close my eyes.
I cannot close my eyes.
Missing pieces of sleep
Blue light tablet
Labatt’s and screens
Interfering with the serene scene
Anxiety
Die in me
I have no high in me.
below the floorboards.
Underneath the scoreboard
I got no fight in me.
Anxiety
Laugh, lie, cry inside.
No carefree sighs from me
But all this rye in me
Fractured bottles spying me.
Anxiety
Die in me
Drink
Stand up.
Drink
Sit down.
Drink
Speak out.
Drink
Shut up
Anxiety
Die in me
Leave me empty and free.
Standing still in tranquil seas
Under the water, carry the water.
But remove water…
Intrigued by the beauty of bewildering sorrow
Never far away from their own contradictions
Nebulous ghosts sound a fog horn of doubt
Encased in confabulation the truth lies raw
Revered by transgressions and translucent pain
Nirvana beckons at the core of sunken Atlantis
Equates archetypal enigmas plying for due fare
Mother Gaia unveils blindfolds of honesty
Essential tears dissolve trances of transience
Serenity shouts for decision virtue and love
Intimate foes take the battle to interior shores
Sisyphus ties his buoy to an anchour of hope
02 February 2020
like Icarus choking on his wing’s wax
Phoenix too laden with ashes to rise
Sisyphus stoned by rock bottom
an Angel suffocating on its halo
the witch seeks to be a Fairy Queen
assembles the mirror of Self and
seeks solace in prayer and meditation
one cannot give what has not been received
Janus will have to gather a third face for the present
looking backward and forward does not suffice
to overcome the deluded nature of an illusion
the only permanent matter is impermanence
either one honestly grasps nascent reality
or corporeality strangles immanent awakening
the Buddha can transcend without fig tree or rice bowl
not every robe has to shine in bright orange
and yet a rainbow needs sunshine as well as dark clouds
tantra means woven together and providence
patchwork for the mosaic and tapestry of life
no more threadbare rags nor shards of broken magic
in wonder and marvel lie imagination and miracles
wisdom is knowing what can and cannot be changed
humility and serenity require arduous work
to achieve some degree of spiritual connection