Long Speculating Poems
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I see through my eyes visions from my face
Speculating dusk to dawn ! I see daylight
The crescent moon in the twilight sky subsided
Hues prominently spreading with the morning sun
I visualize! Beauty of color with a glare
With my iris - my pupil - I then solemnly stare
Gleaming! I glow ! I am positively mesmerized
Seeking those prominent skies each new born day
My elegant hand reaches with the root of its arm
The sun rays beaming in my eyes , I do trace
I look! At dawn each day at the beauteous sunrise
And love the lasting color of rays braised in the skies
The daylight hours of my morning sun
Building dreams hour by hour to pass each day
I saw God's eyes in the sun rays today
And may I lead each day of the morning hour
Looking up to the morning sun - beauteous of hue
Influencing me to inspire God's creations in you.
Therefore the visions I traced in my life I admire
Resemble beauty leaving memories marked in my soul
With the presence of the sun the warmth keeps me whole.
And the inspirations I influence shall the hues blossom
Always remembering each brand new day the sun may come.
Prominently gleaming for the eyes- to be mesmerized.
Rooftop
Giant
You peer
over
the sleeping
city
and from this
height you
can hear
a symphony of
crickets
who
sing
mournful love songs
to
the stars
Who
hang so far out of reach
Speculating
how
miniscule
and powerless they are
to the rest of the Universe's
master
plans
There you are
Arms
lifted towards the heavens
embracing
his creation
Freed
by
the binds
of
the rest of this cruel world.
Unabashed
by
the
silence, and your own singularity
You are
home.
From
Such
great heights
only
seeking
serenity
Until
you
reach
him
and your final resting home.
Form:
Das dada = codified bonafide anachronism
me thoughts infused
with thom hankering for yesteryear
circa antebellum i.e.
American Civil War era veer
rilly, teetering, smoldering, rumbling
upon iniquitous tier
United States greenacres crossroads
with petticoat junction spear
ritually hexed courtesy anti abolitionists
pitted against unfair
slavery, yours truly spellbound
gravitating, fixating, entrancing,
an invisible sonneteer
disembodied spirit transported
back in time,
qua closing first decade
of twenty century aware
how historical events will unfold,
yet lacking means
to affect alternate outcome,
though yearning to spare
fledgling democracy deaf to blare
ring coming fury me unseen
relishing preponderant naiveté
and childlike innocence
before internecine warfare
many stripling young lads,
yet to sprout facial hair
trumpeting, scampering, rejoicing
after favored lass with no care
gathering rosebuds while they may
before their brave hearts got
touched, torched, taxed...
with fire, ah... so cavalier
wondering, speculating, nursing
curiously piqued how adaware
those who frolicked
within Autumn mist did revere
observing what didst appear
oblivious laughter and attitude
analogous to good cheer
omnipresent at Renaissance Faire,
no doubt trials and tribulations
compromised welfare
envious countless scores generations
past knew not global threats,
nonetheless societal fabric circa
early/mid nineteenth century
severely wrenched when
Emancipation Proclamation didst declare
manumision, though sadly
blatant anti semitism, bigotry, racism...,
trumpeted within rank putrid odor
doth still fill the air!
[Prologue: throughout human history of those who've acknowledged the soul, a consciousness predating birth and surviving death, only a minority have experienced its reality during an NDE or an out-of-body episode while a majority have had a sense of it that seems more than just a 'belief'. In this material world both those who believe in transcendence and those who believe only matter is real (materialists) easily feel constrained by time, yet time, time as we know it, is itself an illusion, existing only in the memory or in anticipation of the future. Each of us really has only the immeasurable moment, which ironically is how I experienced my soul in my 20's: as always existing without start or finish, in a sort of endless moment. Such is the mind-frame in which I wrote this poem, speculating on how one's soul transcends time itself.]
Imagine that you exist without time,
days and months and years
mean nothing to you,
nor do centuries or millennia or even eons--
the entire Universe of time--
some 14 billion years!--
means little more to you
than a fly alighting on your nose--
because you KNOW-- you know time is not real
and every single moment you exist
weighs more than Eternity itself...
because...
you exist always, endlessly,
without ever beginning:
you always have been and
you always will be--
you are the moment
and the moment is you--
THAT is your soul--
what you call time can no more
be grasped than a hand
can grasp hold of air....
Methinks lame excuses poorly explain
absent presence gnosh hoe wing up to
acknowledge our papa's ninetieth orbit
around sun, nor dearly beloved eldest
commencement successfully, modestly,
honestly (applying her smarts) as freshly
minted (sage) University of Pennsylvania
graduate, now where webbed wide world
avails untold opportunities to make positive
accomplishments, this papa never set
similar goals for himself, he languished
leaving untested latent abilities, now glum,
distraught, afflicted with irrevocable jangling
lamentation foregoing, forfeiting, forging
pathetic enactment regarding livingsocial
versus squirreling himself hermetically
sealed never linkedin with training sights
keeping traction upon maximizing native
abilities, thus frequent depressive bouts
find me prone speculating nonexistence,
(i.e. death), yet averse toward aggressive
unconscionable dirty deeds done dirt cheap
expediting end game of Life, cuz day after
week after month... pits me against hand
to mouth monetary woe whereat cost to
maintain, insure, fuel 2019 Hyundai Sonata
takes lion's share of monetary impossible
mission to become financially solvent, and
hashtagged social anxiety deters persevering
gainful employment, where self loathing
regarding predilection with profuse sweaty
hands finds yours truly aggravated enough
to admit disability to enjoy remains of days,
weeks, months... subsumed by penuriousness
diminishes excitement toward any purpose,
plus disgruntled without webbed bliss, nor
Written: October 15, 2023
_______________________________________
Hanging precariously on the landline pole,
The sun's beams dance, yet no heat console.
Akin to power wires in homes spread and sway,
But it seems friendly warmth has gone astray.
Sun rays are vanishing behind the fog cover,
Placing the world through a frost to discover.
Nonetheless, it still clings to the phone cable,
A sign of hope is when light and cheer are stable.
Phone broadband towers above the keen sky.
It manages the call akin to a coordinator of a tie.
Yet it feels empty without the rays of the sun.
A mystery gap, an unviable-to-cram void, began.
Our bones are gently dying as we sit in silence.
Warmth may induce a shift in people's reliance.
But the phone's broadband remains unmoved.
By embracing all our goals, we stay unimproved.
We dearth the sun to engulf us with its coziness.
To devote us comfort, we struggle for prosiness.
But forthwith, we're out in the cold, yearning.
For the radiation from the sun to start burning.
Acoustically, we fix our gaze on the phone wire,
Speculating around when it will uplift us higher.
Will it ever convey to us the warmth we desire?
Or will it ditch us eternally in this icy quagmire?
However, a hyperlink grows inside the wire.
A flickering ember of faith that will not tire.
So there is a secret power within the cord.
A convenient network that hinders the record
Each house, each heart, a node in this scheme,
An array of linkages where comfort can gleam.
And though the sun may not shine with its might,
Each of us is able to produce our proper light.
So let us sit quietly in the cold embrace.
And bear changes at our proper pace.
The phone, a device, or a wire may hang above
Yet it is up to us to descry the embrace of love.
Today, I choose to smile
At the things that don’t make sense
Maybe they will stop me from speculating
Maybe it will distract me from my worrying thoughts
My smile might just make you smile too
Imagine the possibilities
If we can remember to smile at the things
We can’t change
If we take the time and deal with things as they happen
Instead of wasting time on tomorrow’s questions
I sometimes catch myself in a trapped space
Things are not always in our control
Irrespective the stress attached to it -
It will not alter tomorrow
Until tomorrow starts
Today, I choose to smile
At the things that don’t make sense
Who knows about tomorrow?
Maybe the things I am speculating
About might not materialize
Then I would have wasted today’s joy
So today, I choose to smile
©135505072013
She speculated in the morning that the dump truck might not come.
But it did.
So she worried that it might fall apart in front of her driveway, blocking her in,
But it did not.
She then speculated that the garbage man might ask her for a cool drink of water,
So she took it out,
But by the time she had laboriously climbed the sixteen outside steps
And finally arrived at the curb, the enormous green garbage truck was gone.
She speculated that the driver had sped up so he would not have to drink her water.
Not entertaining a single thought that she might have been wrong.
She is luxuriously swinging in her freshly-painted porch swing now,
Worrying over and over that her mailman might trip over the rusty garden rake
That her husband left lying across their sidewalk last night.
What if he breaks his neck? She thought.
What will we do then?
Will he sue us?
She spent the whole
Day worrying and
Speculating.
Never thinking
To simply
Move the
Rake.
Fresh home from therapy,
and resonate with zeal
tush air cerebral cogs a turn'n
analogous to and pinion wheel
hence attempt made to bare soul,
sans thru poetry re: veal
ling avidity, asper barreling neurological
daily kos loaded truck full
heading toward figurative
lifelong landfill deposits
on weekly psycho
logical session I unseal
manipulating bothersome issues
controlled via bot size thumbwheel,
which grave undertaking i.e.
professional counseling allows,
enables, and provides opportunistic
gradual process at selfheal
ling oft times necessitates
reviewing silent Virgina reel
comprising the story
of earlier life piecemeal
akin to a slapdash montage
chronicling existential ordeal,
now referencing adenoids
(removal first mention within
poetic endeavor, when young boy)
loosely linkedin with nasopharyngeal
pseudo oral palate
highway tucking each meal
across miniature bridgework,
ma late mum meekly
acceded to doctors orders,
said operation sub
sequently deemed unnecessary
affecting negligible decreasing nasality
predicated on split (bifid
or bifurcated uvula), viz laryngeal
utterances finds me speculating
speculating now, whether taking kneel
ling pose possibly coo dove
wrought divine intercession
giving me super powers ideal
for fighting off being bullied
gloating this instant imagining
bringing beastie boys to heel
actual reality visit my kid self,
a most convenient scapegoat
socially withdraw puny size lad
internalizing hateful barbs glom
ming up significant emotional gearwheel
inferiority complex predominating
supplemented with cumulative
anger, a potent feel
ling exacerbating anxiety prone disposition
courtesy chromosomal
(pop'n mom genes) art of the deal.
He wouldn’t give me the time of day
if his watch was on fire –
the one I’d started running for.
I’d go seriatim on the trail
while speculating about
traversing more
uneven terrain still
just to catch a glimpse of him.
Anyway…
Once I settled
into a pace he faded
from my line of sight.
Lacking in sight, a little lost,
I pushed farther
than I’d gone before;
then the course took
a sharp turn.
The same old scene
gave way
to a novel panorama:
Things might be looking up!
The horizon smudged at first,
my vision foggy
with expectation.
How can you appreciate
the senselessness?
It took a spell to
feel your presence.
I looked again.
You were clear this time.
Delineated –
offering water in the rain:
Redundant
with comfort.
The rest
then faded from view.
The one I started running for
unworthy of a first
much less
a second
backward glance.
If his watch were on fire
then I guess time flies?
I see it now:
Still advances
need not burn.