Long Straightaway Poems
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Groundhog day 2021 - Tuesday, February 2nd
Coincides with astronomy's cross-quarter day,
marking the midpoint between
winter solstice and spring equinox,
which will occur at 5:37 AM on
in Northern Hemisphere
Saturday, March 20.
Small consolation old man winter
spans fewest days
of all four seasons,
especially when massive nor'easter
predicted today January 31st, 2021
including within neck of woods
named Perkiomen Valley Pennsylvania.
Yours truly remembers
when spry Jack (hoar) Frost
(just yea high -
both arms stretched to sky)
came early, left late and bossed
vernal equinox
rattling barenaked branches
obviously inapropos
to budding friendship.
Now (courtesy global warming/ climate change)
mother nature experiences feeling strange
within valleys and atop many mountain range,
wherein goods traded away on stock exchange.
Fortunate concerning yours truly
versus daring to brave
inclement weather
getting stranded in the process
(possibly becoming gratefully dead)
risking life and limb venturing forth
amidst near whiteout conditions
creating debacle perilous and grave
shoveling snow lest he get buried
he can remain holed up
(in tandem with the missus)
snug as a bug in his mancave.
While nestled inside warm abode for awhile
(at least until temperature upwards doth dial
safely ensconced against elements (of style),
I stopped at metaphoric woods edge
trekking until... for no rhyme nor reason
the poetic metered equivalent,
viz another mile
then stopped for coffee break
burst of energy gave me cause to smile
fording imponderable stream of consciousness
impossible (airy) mission to dodge regarding
aforesaid daunting task to craft worthwhile
poetic endeavor to entertain anonymous readers
gleaning how one bard (with his shaky spear)
evokes fiction being snowbound
as if cast adrift within Siberian exile.
Straightaway I continue writing askew
aware how literary trademark modality
characteristic of Matthew
unwittingly indelibly embedded
analous to mine Caucasian
versus swarthy melanin hue
man automatically confers eligibility granting
innumerable known mighty opportunities
(privileged skin color - how unfair)
bigoted prejudices shade those,
either hashtagged as black, brown
naturally copper toned gentile and/or Jew.
Now at my workplace, waiting for my corporate lead, and no sooner said there she was as everybody behind me being fellow workers--not working, before she reached the front desk counter, I turned quickly to them and told them to continue their obligations people are working, and with that said, they went back to work, and I turned back around and flights of a moment, sees her ...
Welcome Ms. Sanford/Isabel Sanford, of the "Jeffersons" sitcom, herself and her lady-in-waiting, she displays a sweet disposition as she fills out the guest registration. A few minor details, and lastly, mentioning the purpose that she's in the Bay Area, not so much the hotel, I hand her an envelope.
This Ms. Sanford, was left for you by San Francisco's Morning A.M. TV broadcast. The bellman will take you to your suite straightaway, Ms. Sanford, do enjoy your stay with us and if you have any further questions, call me, my name is ..., enjoy your stay Ms. Sanford.
The sky becomes synonymous with grey,
signifying a storm is on its way.
And a sullied sun swiftly slips away;
allowing shadows to overcome day,
while clouds release a downpour straightaway.
Thunder echoes across purple-bruised skies,
as lightning causes drops to vaporize.
And ebony descends to claim its prize
while the whirling winds wail and Nature cries.
The treetops are tossed and swayed by each gust
as brisk breezes suddenly feel robust:
arriving swiftly; no time to adjust.
Broken by a murmured mantra of sound,
silence acquiesces as raindrops pound.
And pellets of ice get viciously hurled!
Everything falls in scattered disarray,
when twisters start to materialize.
Hail and rain meld into an icy crust
that turns the streets into a battleground
and neighborhoods into a netherworld.
Remember, long ago, enrapt of Venus,
in college, brought to meet by chance,
how, falling into that first, most fateful glance
a straightaway spark flirted between us?
And, too, can you recall the eager shyness?
On the day that turned up next, a thrilling trance
hurled us into an uninhibited expanse
which then crackled with electric newness.
But nowadays, that’s just as far away
into the forlorn yesteryear as you
are distant now—and, almost strangers, we’ve
matured apart, growing further every day.
A curse upon wicked fate! who withdrew
her blessing and unraveled our fragile weave!
"In my fragile little ship, I sail, sail
In the tempestuous sea of life
Dodging life's pressures, to doldrums outlast"~ by poet
Breathing in and out the notes of life,
from first cry to last sigh, you sing
you sing.... unbeknownst
unbeknownst to you as to
what tunes and notes of life
you will be singing..
but you keep singing... taking cues
taking cues from the
rhythm of the twirl of time.
As you warble to the ticking of time
sometimes...
a melody is created
and the moment becomes lovely -
when your hum is harmonious to
the rhythm, tempo, and dynamics of life.
Listening to that melody - so sweet,
buds of love and peace bloom straightaway
in vibrant colours
to savour and celebrate
the beautiful moment:
a moment as beautiful
as the sweet smile of a child
and as peaceful as the
stillness of a meditation hall.
At times, your voice cracks
you sing outside the range
hitting the wrong note...
and.........oh........
you slip down the stairs
the last step extending down to
the hassles and hard times of life...
like a banana peel
in an already slippery road,
like a dust in the eye
that blurs your vision,
like that of a Wordle game
that leaves you totally clueless.
Such wrong notes
in your song of life
leave you in dismay
like a torn page in a book:
you get dejected, dispirited, and disheartened
and a confused state of mind follows.
But you know you should not stop
you need to ignore the wrong note you struck
not a wince, blink or a pause..
you have to just move
on and on...
and get your mojo back
to continue carolling
the rest of your notes of life
in accordance to the
rhythm of time...
Date: 02/24/2022
'F' form - Free verse - New - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme Chosen: Life
First Place
Poem Of The Day on 02/24/2022
Upon a sullied, sodden sky
of alabaster and ash,
fantasy's formidable flotilla floats
as charcoal-colored clouds.
And on this mild, melancholy
mid-March day,
they dawdle; dribbling drops of rain
in sporadic Spring showers.
And Winter's whitewashed wonderland
sparingly salted with brown brindled blotches,
magically melts away,
revealing rough, ragged patches
of grassy green.
When Winter's weakened grip gives way;
bulbs freed from frosty tombs
are awakened by the tap, tap, tap, of April's tepid tears.
And straightaway, snowdrops start sprouting;
simultaneously, sending shoots skyward.
Color counters the dullness of this dark day
as a Robin Redbreast abruptly appears,
defying drizzling drops of grey;
with its crimson chest, ornately on display.
Nothing new in the electrochemistry
It no longer is a scientific mystery
Waves Beta, Alpha, Theta, Delta, Gamma & Epsilon
Descending from buoyant ecstasy to a persona forlorn
Zodiac signs & rainbow colours assigned to chakras renamed
Esoteric yogic techniques, exponents aplenty, all self-proclaimed
Fiery verbal duels, by many an argumentative eristic
Each it seems is the ultimate mystic
Leaving profundity to theorists whose verbosity we acknowledge
What matters is assimilated wisdom, not vicarious knowledge
So we go in within, alone, in meditational stillness, upon a virgin path
Each moment in the time continuum, a holy sabbath
What we seek is expansive consciousness & joy eternal
And what is eternal is obviously not embraceable in the ephemeral
So we chop off perishable egoistic attachments, fear & desire
And straightaway plunge our non-self into the divine fire
How? In unseeking stillness within ... deep within
Where at each moment we anew begin
No conflict, no violence
Effortless stillness, rippleless silence
No agenda, no seeker, no doer
We are still, yet there is a mover
The flow of the Universe within into which we dissolve
Emerging from which we automatically evolve
What do we gain & what do we lose?
Irrelevant, for we are not, yet desirelessly choose
What we lose is our sorrow generating gross contaminant
Gain being ineffable, exalted, joyous divine love enablement
There is no way; our choice itself is the way
Save unendingly effusing love, no rules to obey
Thoughts sublime, words kind, actions benign
Self, Soul & Spirit thus align
Trust the Universe, plunge into its loving stream
We need to wake up now, from our narrow dream
Upon lighting a candle, darkness is instantly expelled
Surrendering to the divine, ignorance is automatically dispelled
And that is all there is to it
Doable if we do & never ever quit
Simpler the truth, it seems the more elusive it is
So perplexed we are by life’s jigsaw quiz
01-November-2020
They dwell in the peripheral
a place I truly dread
Not sure exactly what they are
I think that they are dead
They stalk the corner shadows
in the day or black of night
I sense their movements vaguely
always dashing out of sight
They themselves are darkness
having neither form nor face
When trying for a clearer look
they're gone without a trace
I used to think perhaps my eyes
were playing tricks on me
until that night while in my bed
they tapped me on my knee
When something laid down next to me
I felt the mattress sink
I threw the lights on straightaway
and poured myself a drink
I glimpse them in the darkened
halls and doorways here throughout
Sometimes I hear their mutterings
as they all roam about
There have been times when I can swear
they're right next to my ear
with breathing or faint whisperings
and I'm awash with fear
They dwell in the peripheral
that place I truly dread
I pray that I'm just crazy
and they're only in my head
2/22/19
Hark, Hallow Dark my dear pal, Titans Mars
rally Martian stars, tag team game Play--Card
Black, Naturals -- rare place reason, Blackguard
quandary, battlescarred, halt? Pass? Have cigars?
Smart-aleck, hmm! facial--compact, boxcars,
ugh! gawdawful. Beauty Triathalon,
He'll be back straightaway, mayhaps papers?
Your facial pasted atop Front page! Bazaars
trains, sidecars, racecars, famous! Alas, Shawn,
lad go faraway places, imagine!
Wanted to ... look balanced, thats it, smart-like
Cameras I take it! Fair and Square, dawn
speaking of that man, time has no passion
I want you meet mama, familylike
Seven decades their union weighed.
Both were ninety and on Medicaid.
When hubby’s eyes saw only shade,
doc gave drops for sight upgrades.
Twice a day, with no mental disarray,
wifey gave his eyes a drops cascade.
On day six, she took drops as bade
from the desk drawer where they laid.
After two drops in both eyes stayed,
hubby closed eyes, then became afraid.
Eyes squeezed shut, he began a tirade,
throwing vile, verbal grenades,
saying something about betrayed.
She begged his eyes to not delay
in seeking an open, healthy display.
“I can’t,” is all hubby would relay.
Giving the drop bottle a quick survey,
wifey was hit with dreadful dismay
and immediately bowed to pray,
“Lord, please send medics straightaway
who know how to end superglue's foul play,
forgive me for my brain that strayed,
allow hubby’s upcoming ninetieth birthday
cause recall of glued eyes to fast decay.”