Long Subconsciously Poems
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Wait a minute, is it already Christmas again
Seems I just took down the lights and the tree
Is there no rest for the downtrodden and weary
This season sometimes takes the Merry Gentleman out of me
So I load up the sleigh with the dog and the kids
The old beat up station wagon I drive
On the hunt for this years perfect tree
We'll be lucky if we make it back home alive
As we jingle all the way to the local tree farm
Six kids and a dog singing at the top of their lungs
With only twelve days left before Christmas
My Ho, Ho, Ho, is already long gone
Picking the best tree out within our budget
My wife says Charlie Brown would be proud
I ask smarty pants Mrs. Santa what she meant by that
She'd rather not say with the little elves around
Before an argument even ensues
I've lost the battle before I hit the front line
You wonder how I'm so confident of that
The same thing happened last year at this time
As I struggle to get the tree off the roof of my jalopy
While Jack the dog in the frost is nipping at my toes
I fall to the ground with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head
Waking up to the dogs frozen tongue stuck up my nose
Finally with the tree set up in the front parlor
I notice it leans bad to one side
Taking my chainsaw to alleviate the problem
The gas fumes kill my kids parakeet out right
With Hobby Lobby open late for the holidays
I was able to purchase the product I need
Working late into the wee morning hours
I did a good job shellacking the parakeet
I'm not sure that my kids even noticed
Or brought up the question what for
But they sure like the shinny new ornament
Hanging next to the hamster that disappeared the year before
Well, I survived another preparing for Christmas
As subconsciously I'm being led
To wrap myself in last years present "The Snuggie"
And dream of those sugar plums dancing in my head
She heard if faintly
fading into the background;
and subconsciously,
she's familiar of its presence.
Unbeknownst to her
she's humming to the melody.
The hook plays a recollection.
With every repeat,
it brings out a memory.
Hook: It sang of a happy moment.
Hook: It sang of a conversation.
Hook: It sang of a pleading embrace.
Hook: It sang of a last farewell.
By the end of the song, it goes on REPEAT.
The music lingered
in between sobs and greetings,
keeping her company
in moments of the night's stillness.
But on the tenth night,
the music played a diff'rent tone.
When the record broke,
so did her heart .
When the music stopped,
so did YOU.
I spent the early part of my life
Giving little to no thought of my
Father and what he meant to me.
I later discovered by self analysis
That I'd subconsciously shut him out,
Thinking of nothing positive about him.
But there came a day when I was 54,
At a family reunion, a younger sister
Shed some light on our dad. On that
Summer day in Oklahoma, my entire
Attitude toward my father was forever
Changed.
He was no longer just an angry man
Who smoked and drank heavily; who
Verbally abused any who stood aversed
To him; who seldom smiled and was hard
To please.
He died when I was 13, and I reconsidered
That had he lived longer than 58 years, we
Would have gotten to know each other better
In spite of there being 11 minor children.
I tell you, I rethought a host of things and
Began to write about him and the treasure
of his brief life.
Today, please allow me to say in a few words
One item from daddy's treasure chest. Daddy
Provided a modest livelihood for mother and
Us, NEVER LEAVING US UNTIL THE DAY OF
HIS DEMISE.
Caught in a vortex
Gripped by turbulent fingers
Drawing me downward
Panick stricken stimulation
Rushed through my mind
Mesmerized by depth
Of the murky waters
Where rusty relics rest
Capsized. Relentlessly
Thinking furiously
Thoughts radiate recovery
Repose is resistant
Seeking refuge
Trinkets tearing tides
Strung on moonbeams
Villain’s vile venom
Tauntingly summoning
Sublimely stressed
Beckoning below
Embodied by a captor
No subsequent release
Sinking to my doom
Do I dear to hope?
Subconsciously searching
Unknowing of what to search for.
Abject resistance
Will His almighty hand
Pull me free from fatal forces?
Curiously thinking of iced tea?
Would it ease my burning throat?
Lungs laden with water
Wishing to be afloat
Brushed by serpent style tentacles
Creatures of the night
Mystically aglow
Shifting sands swirling
Oozing between toes
Fathoms below the ocean
Perpetual nighttime fears
Frigid wetness chills
Last pearl bubbles escape
Demise is eminent
Whispers lull me
Entering a dream state
Calm befalls sweet serenade
Lilting song of the sea
Sirens mournfully singing
Deception flaunts desire
Cruelly taken greedily
Mercy not an option
Given up to the sea
Is it my prelude to paradise?
The epitome of surrender
Pitch black graveyard
No one to bury me.
Shh, surrender silent sorrows.
Subconsciously slip into stillness,
sedately surrounded in serenity's song.
Slumber satisfied, slithering softly between
silky soap scented sanitized sheets.
Soak up summaries of summers spent splashing at
seashores, sandles sifting through salt scented sand,
as sapphire skies shine splendidly.
Scores of silver seagulls soar stunningly
above saltwater seaweed scenery.
Suddenly snorkeling with seahorses,
you somehow become the studied subject.
Swimming in submarine schools, scarcely secluded,
you become someone's significant someone.
Spryly spinning synchronously side by side
someone special, sprinkled in sentimentality,
speaking shrouded sounds,
you shift seamlessly into sound sleep.
"Speak some sense slower," some seahorse shrieks.
Sensibly speak shrouded sounds slower, softer,
so she can sleep sometime soon.
2/9/2020
r creative block:terms for a period when an artist,
including a musician, has difficulty producing
new work or ideas. A phase of dormancey
frustration or absent mindedness.
Dry spell or funk: Informal terms
used to describe an uninspired phase.
A search for incubat.
Incubation: In the creative process,
this is described as a necessary period
of stillness and rest where ideas can form
subconsciously before the
active creation phase begins
Apate and Antheia wished attention
they were ignored by Jupiter who turned his head as they bored him
that they acted like Coupltans but were Separtious.
They sought togetherness but theree spirt was devisive.
They saw Saronia who was atheletic and endowed.
He turned his head from them as he spoke yet one frill isn't worth the loss of
the love I have established with Ate.
They took there nastiy's to one who depiesed his look and in his presence
he spoke kind
but his objhectives were against him being loved by a woman. He wished him to bve considered same in his
coupling might he then could use him to seem like a fair catch when he spoke against him. The two went to him for attention
and even this lonely being refused there company due to there ways of catogorizing folk.
The Human Experience leads one ro respect of him as a person
and man. Then to share gis name is a honor to the ansecters and generations to come.
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PART 4
Can my love for be so strong ?, that it weakens one’s resolve to have a healthy soul, a strong spirit, weakens one’s instinct for survival. Why is it ?, that I seem unable to mold a key / keys from all the material provided, in order to unlock the doors of love’s cage, of love’s prison that have encased my heart for so long. Locked in this cage !, my heart continues to beat strong , drumming out tunes so positive, so pure, trying to drown out all the negative sounds that pound down, that surround this tired old soul, who truly wants to let go .
Can the back beat ?, all this ladies negativity towards me, be a true sound ?, or is it waves of camouflage ?, a veil of beams behind which – consciously or subconsciously – she can hide, feel safe, behind which she can avoid any involvement, any commitment, where she can keep me at arms length yet keep me close enough to comfort until another, more suitable man – a paramour – comes along ?
I guess this had to be said
The root causes for the way
I am kept awake at night
Summer heat no sleep
My only companions are
Past events and the opinions
My soul resents.
I guess it had to be felt
Every reflection and failure
To society, my appearance must
Be on point and tailored
To meet another’s expectations
My soul craves approval like
Success and celebrations emotional
Rollercoasters to ride on certain occasions
As a man fear becomes unacceptable you must
Be the brave one.
I guess this had to be heard Oh, sorry say that again?
I can’t hear you. My soul then becomes numb misunderstood
Makes you feel dumb because you must be the only one when
The second or third comments speak up son. Damn it another crack collateral
fracture to move forward must move faster to escape the disaster
in my life oh well, time to backtrack.
On the bicycle of this thing called my life, I fell off way too many times the bumps and bumps and bruises become a badge of honor look how bright they shine. So how do I heal as I deal with how the pain festers when the scabs of old wounds peel. I heard my brother say toughen up like the Navy Seals. For him, my heart is cold like steel stories I retold myself based on events half real.
I guess this had to be seen the rumors about me are not true I am not really mean
Although I do get mad and half the time I don’t know the words to describe how I feel. Your insults don’t hurt me I devour them like three-course meals. Lets talk about what’s really on this brain how lies were sold and how this soul growing up in the modern education system studied long-term and was short-changed but I guess the was all part of the plot to teach base on rigged curriculums and whether I learned or not teachers still got paid at the end the day.
I guess this had to be sensed since every human I ever crossed paths with subconsciously convinced that parts of my soul do not fit into the mainstream
No one left to pick up the pieces so forget about seeing the bigger picture when the vision is blurry.
Contest: Playlist Poetry
Sponsor: Silent One
Written: 092126AM
"I WASN'T THERE THAT MORNING
WHEN MY FATHER PASSED AWAY"
Half of that song-line could
Be mine. I wasn't there that early afternoon
When my father passed away. News came
from my father's friend, and my cousin and I
ran a half mile very fast. We were there before
the undertaker took my father away.
"I DIDN'T GET TO TELL HIM
AII THE THINGS I HAD TO SAY"
I can't remember anything I had to say nor
Anything I wanted to say. I do remember that
Daddy was 58; that it was the 8th of May; that
I was 13; that our dear mother of 12 was 35;
And that most times I had very little to say to
anyone. I don't know why, except perhaps I
was born that way.
"EVERY GENERATION BLAMES
THE ONE BEFORE".
If I did any blaming or finger pointing, it was
Subconsciously. However, I am very certain
That the next two generations that followed
Me is much closer to me than was I to my father.
The song-lines of "IN THE LIVING YEARS"
" by Michael and the Mechanics are very plentiful
and loaded with myriads of emotions that fill my
heart and soul. The lyrics of that song have
lingered inside of me for more than 10 years.
In my heart and mind,
This is much more than a song.
It is the tracks of the story of families.
It is a scroll begging to be revealed;
It is a heavenly call for love to be unsealed;
It is a plea to love our families deeper still.
Poetry is my escape when reality becomes too much,
Recently poetry has become my crutch.
When I start to feel like I am drowning in the ocean
with arms too heavy to swim or make a motion.
I can pick up my pencil and paper and write it down;
Being able to release the anxiety, fear, and sadness is profound.
For so many years, I tried to keep everything locked deep inside,
Where nobody could find my real emotions alone, I would cry and hide.
The thought of everyone’s judgments and disapproval,
It turned into a deep depression and my complete social life removal.
My diary became my best friend,
Being able to release my emotions without worry or criticism was almost more than I could comprehend.
My journal was there for me day or night,
Anytime I Felt anger, I could write out my spite.
Anytime I felt sad, my hand could write through the tears,
Every emotion I had been keeping closed off for so many years.
Being able to get it out of my head and heart onto the paper,
It helped me release those lower vibrations; Now, I’m learning to stand as tall as a skyscraper.
If you’re going through a dark place or a hard time
Please consider journaling; I promise it will help over time.
It doesn’t have to rhyme or be perfect,
Just start to write and notice the inner conflict.
Once you have that written down, you can see what you have subconsciously concealed;
Then you have the secrets of your heart on what needs to be healed.
Please don’t give up; keep holding on with all your might.
Understand your shadows, transmute them, and then show the world your beautiful light.