Long Summarily Poems
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Mute
but immutable.
Unmoving, unmoveable;
timeless, yet tireless.
Solitary stalwart sentinel
surveils undulating horizon.
Aberrant, achromatic clouds
pock-mark the skies, as distant
rumblings herald his adversary's
latest gambit in their age-old conflict.
The wrath of a thousand crashing,
clashing, thrashing fists batter
against the beleaguered sentry.
Ceaselessly, remorselessly,
the maelstrom assails him.
But the foundations are firm and
noble gatekeeper stands steadfast.
Single-minded of purpose, placid
custodian morphs into combatant as
his luminous, voluminous blade carves
luminescent arcs through chthonic cloak.
Tenebrous tendrils wither and dissipate,
impotent under intense lambent onslaught.
His victory is only fleeting, as vanquished
foes are summarily supplanted by more of
their ilk in a seemingly continual surge.
Again and again, over and over, tormentor
presses the attack, exploiting any weakness.
Over and over, again and again, valiant warden
repels the barrage and despatches his enemies.
And so the pattern repeats endlessly, unabated,
as these eternal opponents jostle for position
in a perpetual cycle of aggression and defence.
Until eventually, finally, ultimately, the stale-mate
is broken; when Tempest's tantrum is tamed and
Blizzard's battalions have been banished, all is calm.
Tranquillity is able to reassert herself and order has
finally been restored; at least for the foreseeable future.
Obligations fulfilled, the triumphant Guardian can now rest.
Until the need arises again, until he's called upon once more,
he will wait patiently, watch diligently, in unflagging vigilance.
Forever resolute, a beacon of sanctuary, a symbol of hope, his is a
thankless task, but the Protector of Mariners will always be needed.
-----------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 27 July 2017
For Eve Roper's "Lighthouse" Contest.
(1st Place)
This is war
Babies are being killed
No justice
For the innocents
Just injustice
No real peace
Deadly bombs
Blood painting the sad streets
Criminals
Are ubiquitous
Even in the sewers
Poor babies
Are summarily executed
What a shame
The truth is handcuffed
And shackled
Yet, we want
Everlasting peace
North and South
No justice
West and East
There's no peace
And yes, no justice
In the deadly bloody streets
Civilians are killed
Elders are baffled
No cease fire
Stop the injustice
The devils
Are roaming the streets
Bombardments
Are ubiquitous
Where is God
In this brouhaha
Stop fooling
The whole universe
Stop the lies
No democracy
It doesn't rhyme
With evil
But hypocrisy
Does not rhyme
Either with Hell
Stolen land
Is not an award
A reward
Is complicated
The Nobel Prize
Is unwarranted
Yet, we want
Everlasting peace
By no means
By any means available
And unavailable
We want peace
Friendship and justice.
Copyright© February, 2024, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
Should it happen that someday they're seeking struggling bards,
To compose appropriate verse for Hallmark Christmas cards,
I think that I should like to summarily submit,
The following mots for their consideration, TO WIT:
(1) 'Tis so nice to receive a colorful array of Christmas cards,
From kith and kin sending their warmest Noel regards.
I'm sparing you the twaddle of an annual Christmas letter,
Because I think this simple card expresses my greetings better!
(2) I pray Yule have a joyous Christmas with your relations,
And that Santa will more than meet your expectations!
'Tis the Season for joy, never for feeling sad or blue.
That'll come, dear friend, when the credit card bills are due!
(3) As you dream and reminisce by the glowing fire,
May all good things come to pass for which you aspire!
Tho' it has been said many ways, I can't be more sincere.
I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
(4) May your heart be filled with hope and mirth,
As you celebrate the dear Savior's birth!
May your home be filled with naught but love and joy,
As you celebrate the birthday of that Special Little Boy!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Should it happen that someday they're seeking struggling bards,
To compose witty verse for Hallmark Thanksgiving cards,
I think that I should like to summarily submit,
The following mots for consideration, TO WIT:
(1) Savor the oyster dressing, giblet gravy and thigh,
The sweet pertaters, green bean casserole and punkin pie.
Hope you have a goodly supply of sodium bicarbonate,
To counter the wrenching effects of all that grub you ate!
(2) To Grandma's house, hordes of kith and kin will repair,
For a delectable repast (after Grandpa ends his interminable prayer!)
May naught but love and fellowship dwell amongst you there,
As His bountiful harvest each of you gratefully share!
(3) The Thanksgiving meal is over, men folk watch ball teams battle,
While the women folk sit about the table engaged in idle prattle.
Mom's thoughts are elsewhere on how to deal with left over turkey;
She's a genius at creating soups and potpies, even turkey jerky!
(4) A Happy Thanksgiving to one and all.
Relish this time together and have a ball!
And may all with thankful hearts ever lift,
Praise to Him, the Giver of every good gift!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
We Roam
I always used to wonder why a woman would leave children she adored and
walk into the night.
I always used to wonder why men would leave the best things that ever
happened to them, simply to roam the streets in a stupor.
I always used to wonder why a man would leave a $300,000 paying job that they
loved, simply to roam.
I used to wonder why, but now I know.
You see there are some of us, who need the fire of lightning to appreciate the
good things of this world.
Without that fire, we cannot see good anywhere.
No it is not that we are weak, or even that we are summarily ungrateful.
It is simply this,
That when we loose the notion of a loving God.
When we loose the idea, that God loves us and has our back.
We loose the light of life itself.
And we roam.
Our children must not die
before their parents
or parental dreams die with them.
And, for those without children,
this is easily empathized
because our dreams must not die
before we do.
Without them
our best selves have already left
whatever misery and boredom remains
for further degenerating absence of purpose.
As our own remaining children
step into young adulthood
wise parents often continue listening
for their dreams.
In this way,
as our own immortal dreams and fantasies fade,
younger dreams become our own extending future.
Here,
in the imperative parental vocation
of restoring therapeutic justice
and peace to dream love's future,
is where I hear resounding
Millennial Generation Silence
Absence of healthy economic and political dreams
for healing over-heated competing climates
and landscapes.
Restoring inclusive predator and prey justice
and healthy pre-recycling parenting
and dreams of timeless youth
all begin with loving to know Why?
If you have parented a healthy verbal two year old,
you may remember
these challenges of Why
and concomitant insufficiencies of time
to summarily reply
Why not?
Why do we dream in language
and icons of mythic sacred relationship?
And how do pre-linguistic babies dream
in resounding color?
Why do I dream
of a revolving Fallen Eden
evolving forest-garden restorative relationships,
sacred and secular Paradise Dreams
revisited
revised
rewinding
reweaving Millennial ReGeneration Dreams?
Healthy ecopolitical futures
still Yang with Yin eating from fruit trees
of Sacred Loving Dreams
despite Secularizing NonDual DarkDeath
we cooperatively own and appositionally manage
root systemically together
ReStorative Yang EdenSpace
with ReDistributive Flowing YinNurture Time--
spiraling bilateral timeless Mythic Logosed Times
of and for PostMillennial Therapeutic Dreams
asking how and when
and cooperating where already
and why not?
A healthy parent
must not lose sacred-secular Dreams
or we all die dreamless forever,
retributing further anger
and fearing frustrating injustice
language and icons of unweaving Earth
fallen eternally to burn
for asking God WhyNot?
Generating a ring
of bright waters, which
currently meanders, ponders,
and then streams - twitch
ching reflexively as flora
and fauna lap rich
text chard liquid
timelessly streaming, rippling,
and quivering pitch
sure risk gully confidently
babbling, bobbing, bubbling,
burbling loch a king
dominating his rill small niche
wade ding in the wings,
one doth espy, (sans oxbow lake)
analogous to an err
river rent sea sunned bay sic
wide whirled, whetted, webbed itch
perhaps berthed as a cripple creek,
and/or survivor of a kill
ling, which ordinary
happenstance attempts
to anthropomorphize
life giving resource hitch
ching various synonyms for water,
where sustenance to biosphere
can become flushed out
vis a vis via an ecological glitch
which dry dystopian scenario,
within the realm
of human activities circumstance
leaving most animals plants awash
bay sic lee lurching,
gasping, and choking
within an immense oceanic ditch
availing an alien landscape
awash with post apocalyptic
desiccated global cribbage
match, where the losing hand
would be a real ,
thus summarily, punctiliously, and merrily
describes the edifying whirlpool
life sike kill
where countless marine species will flounder
(literally like a fish out of water)
viz deadened ghyll.
Plop, plop, plop.
The white light of the window's
Modern-day tavern shone
On the writer's keys
as the raindrops plopped atop
The wooden barrels outside.
His mind both racked and vacant
Body-dragged and summarily questioned
Twixt miles and miles of driving to connect
The dots as the mind, the mind, the mind...
Mutters, mumbles, and mucks through the hours
Like a muddied pigeon struggling to spread its wings
As small concentric circles grow outward on the writer's
Cold wet barrel outside in the inclement Seattle spring spritz...
So you have a break.
So you have time to rest.
So why complain?
Look at all this mental health bliss.
Why fuss and moan and
Stress and with such duress?
There's a way to find the calm in the chaos.
Just go away, get away, though check your emails.
The kids have the flu, go take your break.
It's walking pneumonia, where's your harmonica?
Let's sing the blues.
The songs of our lives.
The tears of all the angels.
Human tears taste better.
An eye for an eye
A hambone for a hambone
Who called the vegetarian?
Fooled you that's a pescatarian.
This poem is a train,
That never found the rails.
And that's okay
When excavating
The soul of the soul,
The eye of the eye,
The plop of the plop
From the Beer Barrel Bop.
I am the raindrop.
And even the barrel.
Plop, plop, plop.
That dreary August Sunday morning
Peace like a river in Ozubulu was flowing
Merchants of death wielding the tools of their trade were lurking
To strangle peace Of the day just dawning
Vengeance was the mission
Anger from business gone awry the vision
But missing the ultimate prey
They pounced on worshipers assembled to pray
And they died!
Victims of a society in search of lost values
And they were massacred!
Martyrs of a society in a hypocritical quagmire
And they were slaughtered!
Like lambs on the altar of mammon
And they were brutally sent forth!
Unwilling partakers in man's depravity
And they were summarily dispatched!
Innocent victims of disobedience to God's injunction
Give to Cesar what belongs to him and to God His due
But they did not die in vain!
Their demise showed us whom we are
A nation in need of redemption
They gave their lives so that we can live!
.
Life feels too complex for mere words,
she curiously said aloud
repetitiously anyway.
I see health differently, more confluently,
and yet your complex experience feels familiar,
he summarily replied.
I would not equate my life experience
with healthy process, necessarily developing positives,
although sometimes yes,
especially in wombed and infantile beginnings
before words became evolutionary tools
to be used both for and against complexities.
Language feels more resonant
since one day when I mistook dissonance
for confluence,
mendacious uncharted chaos
predicating pregnant integral enchanting complexity,
Entropy
predicting negentropy
statically remembering more dynamic synergy,
unconscious dark soul
whispering with light healthy spirits
realigning co-passionately wealthy natures.
Pre-verbal infancy
was so much curiously simpler,
when my rubbed and oiled head
and belly
and back
and feet
and legs
made me so health happy
I hoped to pee my glee.
I can see where words have complexly hidden
your curious ecstatic way
accepting humanity while others feel complexly grieved.
I'm not sure if you affirm my original complex point
about life
or if you are defaming my last happy memory
of healthy relational process
during an intimately discursive pee
nurturing phenomena
coordinating co-relations
rocking my infantile welfare world.
Nor am I...Nor am I,
or We, probably.
Nor Earth her complex ZeroSoiled
ZeroSummed
SelfSouled
not not Other co-relationship.
Relationships feel too complex for mere words
she curiously replied aloud
again,
anyway.