Long Smallish Poems
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A family affair
A big hotel was built in our rather shy town
the hotel's façade faced the town's lake that
had many birds that visitors thought charming
the hotel needed many casual workers, such
as cleaning rooms, corridors, and plates, and
cups after guests, we thought was posh and
with a southerly accent, which was regarded
as more posh than the way we spoke.
for the working-class young, there was not
to offer, between going to sea or working
at a canning factory, many took to the sea
but lacked the discipline needed to continue
a lifestyle that is essentially a lonely one
although for those with the will to seek to
to maritime school, it could be a fine career
when my father was coming home from
from the sea for good, he was not a seaman
I was in bed, lung sick as often as a child
they had told me he was coming and thought
he might look heroic, like a Viking
the door opened, and a smallish man entered
he pointed at me and in gest said, whose son
is this and forever planted in me a feeling
of being inferior with problems this entails
but I digress years later when taking
the bus into town, I ignored his halloo for
which I suffered sleepless nights
I should have been more polite.
My brother was friendly with my dad
my brother was a forgiven sort of person
they even worked together at the hotel
cleaning dishes
I thought that's what you meant?
There is so much meaning there.
I get it now.
It's clear as day,
once you understand it.
But, dear reader, once you have the answer,
never question it.
Never ask the author to explain.
Never ask others to explain what the author meant
for the source will often say:
"Believe what you will"
"What I meant is on another Planet"
"Maybe you read in there, something that was truly never there"
"Why should I enlighten your load with my burden"
"You'll read into it :
what you want,
what you need,
what derives from your drive
what keeps you alive and ticking"
Meaning is so demeaning.
I thought that's what you meant?
Number 42, is the answer to everything!
Fate is random decay to dust.
It's a certain curtain to disorder.
The harder you look the less certain is the scene.
Entropy quells and dismantles every
semblance of meaning in structure,
with a long half-life, bound in time.
Order's fate is disorder.
That's the way it's meant to be.
Meaning's fate is dismantled sense.
Enjoy the entanglement!
Meaning is so demeaning.
Dear Reader - please, please, please
crumple and tear
all these words up,
and eat them.
===============
Douglas Adams author of 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' (HG2G)
“It was a joke. It had to be a number, an ordinary, smallish number, and I chose that one. Binary representations, base thirteen, Tibetan monks are all complete nonsense. I sat at my desk, stared into the garden and thought ‘42 will do.’ I typed it out. End of story.”
But it can't be true, surely not! It came from somewhere meaningful! Why that number = 42?
===============
(alter knit lee titled: vita in oculis nudato)
goo goo gaga I wanna yell
cuz, synonymous
with other wordsmiths,
or...well
whatever will eire'n burr,
a sought after creative
passionate pursuit aye tell
ye a boot me own aha...eureka insightful
revelation explaining
ma quotidian writing spell,
and phalanges skitter
across qwerty keyboard
at light in an attempt to quell
onslaught tidal wave crashing
upon me conscious state pell mell
which tsunami flood spongy
heady gray matter with hell
over high tide heals assailing,
bruiting, clobbering this fell
low inducing (me) to play
Handel's Semantic Water Music
on the smallish piccolo cello
which Sirens of Tighten,
(who just appeared out of thin aire -
cuz scriveners can resort
to prestidigitation to make appear
any necessary entity
without rhyme or reason),
anyway, this sylph sea Oceanids nymph
i.e. mermaids didst dee clear
particularly via
barely audible verbal communication
sotto voce en dear
ring gently beckoning
affinity this modest heir
to secret himself within secluded lair
whence, an automatic
erectile flickr, kickstarted,
levitated, and manifested
an instantaneous jubilant kik
lobbed me near
this seductive, sedulous, and sedum
scented sir experienced hypnotic stare
charming froto into trance scandent state
as if by magic the tubular
testicular proboscis didst inflate
aptly serving as modus operandi flagellate
thus proving a "happy ending" against being celibate.
(alternately titled: venerated
uber transcendent state haint give me no lyft)
Ultimate mission (ofttimes possible)
closed eyed insight courtesy meditation
ideally buoys state of consciousness
to naturally induced doze zen realm
disgruntlement arises if yours truly
unaware headstrong winds overtake helm
I invariably drift into light sleep
hours later jostle awake
(analogously experience self named
compressed Rip Van Winkle syndrome)
just smidgen fifty plus shades
gray grizzle coating chin
clumsily amble toward nearest sink
splash cold water across face
apply towel - daub cheeks
various sundry mucus loosened
thick globs phlegm
subsequently, significantly, satisfactorily
expel smallish secretion
out nostrils (pressing
one damned nostril closed
expelling repeating process
other nostril cleared) Semitic nose
clean as a whistle
don glasses to espy time
digitally printed white
within rectangular panel
courtesy electricity illuminating
Verizon set top box
reckon eyes clockface reads
what the ƒ*©* in dog's name...
of Sam Hill, Judas Priest, Matthew Scott...
dadgummit yikes, the time
way past bewitching hour
relaxation cast sleeping spell,
I awoke with a start
'curse saliva drooling and curdling
chin see? ole beastie boy body (mine)
aging baby boomer codger
don't be fooled by
boyish good looks (mine)
nevertheless feral, corporeal
being somewhat refreshed
particularly quaffing
CALIFIA COLD BREW MOCHA
to smooth edges jagged grogginess
thus set self able, eager,
ready, and willing to dash off
aforementioned poem at expense
handily deferred (furloughed)
exercise ma moose hills with
two fifteen pound dumbbells
least till complete literary task
which syrup rise ending snuck up
from outer limits of twilight zone.
KINGDOMS OF POWER
man - with his little sphere of influence,
claims mighty power, in his smallish hands.
mini empires, like stars from the universe,
like microscopic atoms - they march on -
stomping, squeezing, squashing, squelching - mere men.
they think, it will shut them up, dismember time.
movies hail them with majestic symphony,
shuffling through narrow streets – clanging harsh.
~~
on quiet mule, (a little braying – perhaps),
a humble man, a meek child bride – travel.
heaven’s spotlight upon them - star of Bethlehem!
angels gaze, wisemen seek, shepherds shake,
as a virgin gives birth to a unique boy
one that, if he chose, could play with this earth.
this infant king is bigger than life itself,
“Adam’s breath” received from His own spirit.
while little men sleep, in castles of gold,
the sinless Savior lies in a manger.
~~
the puppeteer pulls the strings, supposing
he’s in control - chops wood, prepares nails -
draws blood, sweat and tears. on stage, all appears
lost. hope is buried. a huge stone is rolled,
blocking entrance to the holy of holies.
but wouldn’t you know, God can tear it in two!
innocent blood was spilled on this spoiled earth
claiming it back, redeeming us, and pow…
the power and majesty of the living God
shows up, shows off. Light raises the dawn.
~~
once again, He is quiet, biding His time
giving kingdoms a chance to change their minds.
to arrive at this conclusion – you must be saved -
lest you die, an eternal death! not wanting
anyone to perish, He holds back his sword.
if our tongues would do the same, and believe,
confess, instead of curse, just believe, and
be saved, because His majesty WILL BE praised.
Kim Rodrigues © 2016
Planet Norway calling
We see a TV program from Norway, a smallish nation bent on becoming green, building windmills on top of mountains and in the sea, filling the landscape with rotating blades that have an annoying sound and does not make the famous landscape more prettier.
You see, to finance this dream of an unsullied nation at ease with itself, it has to sell polluting oil and gas by the tankers full and the more expensive the electric dream becomes, more oil and gas must be sold..
To reason to the leaders of this electric manic disorder, is impossible they act as the have found the final truth and God is no longer in the details
Can anyone explain to the Norwegian government their
country is not a “Planet Norway,” drifting about in the galaxy oblivious of other planet but is a small part of Europe and the rest of the world, that pollution affects us all and that the solution must be based on common sense and together with other nations.
The trails runs the edge for several miles,
a clifftop walk, it is no great trial,
atop a long precipice of limestone,
where big, black vultures soar, and make their home,
a rugged wall, by ancient peoples known,
so it looms, this stubborn piece of wild.
Atop it a state park has sat for years,
small fences up to calm a parent’s fears,
but you know kids, they’ll always go ahead
and fearlessly peer over that great ledge,
the beauty awes even in their young heads,
like all souls, they’re stirred by the wonder here.
Some metal stairs descend down to the base,
so folks can walk along the smallish caves,
‘hold up the earth’ in a picture they snap,
see Minekill Falls, and walk around its back,
find passageways where Iroquois made tracks,
and Tory soldiers hid in olden days.
It seems so close, you can see Albany,
but when the winds blow you almost believe
that this place is at the edge of the earth,
like some lost land you found after long search,
quite thankful that people have seen the worth
of these tree-clad cliffs in their majesty.
Chanting from the spirit world enters my soul as I sleep, enslaving me fully into her familiar beat, I dance with abandon, tossing my hair, flipping my feet, in childlike wildness.
Boundless in its pursuit of me, my inner voice incorporates itself into my dream, terribly ethereal in true spiritual form, bringing my real self into the higher realms, ones not fully reached until death.
My joyful soul is soaring now, spinning, and whirling, transforming me into a dervish, insanely happy to have found my tribe, loving my inner sweet pureness which is gentled out of me nightly.
I seek her every night, my sleeping day soul, in my dream state, and she keeps me in her warm, loving grasp, replenishing me in bits and pieces, in smallish intervals, showing me my true delight.
I embrace my dream state with the innocence of a unicorn, and rainbow hope, knowing her truth.
The gardener's hand was feeble,
the poet's hand was staid
Yesterday's dreams were buried
with seeds, last year were laid
Yet flowers grew in rainstorms
though coupled with the weeds
Butterflies came to visit
The gardener's heart was eased
A smallish yellow butterfly
on heal of monarch great
Across the wild garden flew
and not a moment late
For though her wings were
little, and she was very small
Somehow, she found momentum
to fly up the garden wall
The gardener watched in wonder
in the scene that she was gifted
Each nuance of this garden free
Her poet's heart uplifted
The springtime long now ended
and summers turned to fall
The gold was tinged with silver
and a fairy came to call
since maintaining a diet
of exercise heeding "yo dude"
(you look like a lady)
the inner fitness maven against
the temptation of high caloric junk food
and nightly snack king
on a flexible fitness routine,
this LIX aged body electric feels good
these myopic eyes and
well-calibrated hands measure less dense hood-
winking bosom, that if I feigned being
a "bared naked lady" -
as per this chest lewd
city in reference to "man boobs"
that seemed to materialize overnight
now appear to decrease as well
that unwanted "love handle,
this chap more inclined
tubby in a greater mood
to parade around
this noncrowded house shirtless
AND definitely NOT in public,
BUT no weigh Jose
would this generic guy go completely nude
cuz being self-consciousness of my physique
might prompt outsiders
to consider me a prude
and even during closed bedroom door
sexual exploits deter me tibia rude
fellow (with average go daddy long legs)
and my dangling dipstick smallish
(concluding biology screwed)
a chap worthy tube he more endowed,
though gratitude proffered
to same divine cosmic consciousness
but as the year's pile up appreciation
of functional faculties alter matts' at tee 'tude
accepting physical characteristics
more or less static
hoe ping belive mass elf ya wood.