Long Teetered Poems
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Electorate on tenterhooks until...
outcome of 2020 presidential election announced
Polling places slated to open seven o'clock
in the morning November third two thousand twenty
heightened tensions will strain patience
to breaking point concerning
extreme anticipation common joe experiences
(biden his/her time)
regarding which candidate trumpeted
as de facto commander in chief of United States.
Carpe diem the echoing refrain
heard and seen dispensed and broadcast
across telecommunications medium
cuz the very survival of democracy at stake
ruthless political machinations employed
to seize inalienable codified rights
couched within Declaration of Independence
and Constitution, written ethos, dogma, credo...
compiling aggregate of fundamental principles
or established precedents that constitute
legal basis of a polity, organisation
or other type of entity and commonly
determine how entity governed.
Understanding North American government
inextricably found yours truly agape
when chance occurrence brought hefty tome
into self assigned reading material
which storied author David McCullough
wrote engrossing John Adams biography
I read aloud with measured deliberateness
clearly enunciating each syllable of every word
despite runaway enthusiasm
to acquire historical premise
whereby original thirteen colonies
teetered on brink of immediate collapse
soon after majority representatives
swore fealty among themselves
despite ragtag soldiers
easily overwhelmed courtesy
fighting force of British Empire.
As a staunch affiliate of democratic party,
one veritable common joe
just biding his time,
I trumpet how crass
deleterious, egregious, fractious...
usurpation of power
jackknifed, kickstarted and linked
endemic flood (gushing) hatred
malicious, nefarious, opprobrious putrescence
laid down at the feet
upholding seventy five inches
of corpulent doughy flesh
regarding one conceited, haughty, and obstreperous
politician orchestrating machiavellian leitmotif.
Mark my words, that bull headed incumbent
will clamor, foment, incite, loose chaos
if Democratic candidate garners more votes
at the ballot box nsync with absentee citizens
casting their lot with the worser of two evils
otherwise put head between legs,
and kiss tuckus goodbye,
cuz hell in a handbasket looms on horizon.
DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE EMOTIONAL ISSUES
I was born in a land far, far away called... home.
Not yet still-born.
A place of iced mountain mazes,
that were once warm, like an oasis of blessings,
featured.
Life, overlooking question marked plains,
where the grass is green and the wind, wild
and unfiltered.
Where adventure and path was half-balanced,
teetered.
Hung on the Horizon like the Moon in High Holy Day
in shift phase-,shifting phase-shift,
of the nurtured.
Still, a Banshee Howling; a Temptress-Whore,
lifting all protocol of the Hunt, "About Face."
Her *** breathe,-iced gossamer-
lining a sarcophagus
below the succession-chain pyramid
of gathered slaves', witness.
Whipped foam in sheet-layers
of emotional-strata denied
by iced Earth and Zombie Tomb.
Society will have its sheep and its shepherds.
Voices do cry in the Wilderness.
Echoes cracked in the darkessphere.
None. The less. The lesser.
An hourglass-of-open-window- shards,
the- daylight-stained-looking-glass-
piercing-the-veil-of-dusks-Sovereign-Sentencing.
The chill of my spine, her memory.
A promise of reunion as she smirks back
with puzzle-encrypted messages.
My Home went away from me,
to re-address ceremonies' garb.
With flinty eyes that bore witness to an empty womb.
Was it me?
The Banshee Howling:
I lived in a house of glass
in a place forbidden to ever be seen. To ever be..
The mirrors promise reflected a lonely,
loveless woman.
Her beauty was too perfect to be real.
She was the one who left me.
To search for better things on these Streets.
To a place called none.
She was gone, but her memory lingers on. For me, the Sonic Howling. The memory of her...
A Banshee Howling; The memory of our union,
reunion, re-toothed in cold steel.
Of ritual, undoing, dung.
The premise : I was unborn in a far-away place
where the grass has never been.
Never was real. A holo sonogram. Life's hologram. The mirror's tear.
Just a shadow, of one teasing shades
of cruelty of what could, has, not wanted. Here?
There? No more? There there. No more tears.
Our plane went down in the mountain snow, but I was alive
I walked on ice in the thin air, the only way to survive
Then on a ledge, I saw that light, a valley pure and green
With rivers rolling, flowers blooming, almost like a dream.
I stumbled down a narrow path to find a monastery gate
From probable death to verdant life, I seized my change of fate
An old monk gave a smile on an ageless face
He led me to gardens within gardens, a place to meditate.
I met the Lama, and he said, "It's good here, but here’s the deal
This place don't age, and folks don’t change, it’s a place for wounds to heal
But climb those mountains, break those walls, and boy, you’ll surely see
That out there time still moves, and freedom isn't free"
I stayed ten years in the gardens, a story never told
Then I met a woman on a path, such radiance to behold
I told her, "Darlin’, this ain’t home, it don’t change and there's no goal
Come with me, I know a place to make you whole."
"It's got Ponderosa Pine and mustangs run and eagles fly
My Dad is a rancher, Mom teaches under that big sky
I have so many friends there, if you come, you'll see
I wish now she hadn't listened, because freedom isn't free.
She took my hand, we climbed that wall, balanced on a ledge,
Between paradise and a snowy realm, we teetered on the edge
I knew we had to go, pulled her into time's flow
To a grounded planet where I hoped we both could grow.
The helicopter found us, landed safe on that frozen lake
She looked into the icy mirror, but the ice began to break
Her reflection showed a face grown old, I felt the sudden chill
Her movements became slower, but I was hoping still.
I reached out once more, but she died outside the door
She should have stayed in Shangri La, it shook me to the core.
I did make it home, but they've broken rules here too
It's not the same as it was, not grounded in what's true
Less room for us to grow, a lesson Dad taught me
You're fooled by utopia, then find that freedom isn't free,
There's a lost horizon somewhere and I sometimes feel the call.
Because we've long left Eden's garden, and we're in free-fall.
The day was wearing on when the old man gingerly stepped outside;
Thanks to an earlier breeze and short rainfall, cool air greeted, arms wide.
“The air is clearer too!” he cheered… though only in his head, he hopingly joked,
But smog had finally reached out to them, mostly due to wildfires smoked.
He winced as he closed the door, that thumb pain still surprising, despite back and knee.
Down the porch steps he teetered just the tiniest bit, but sure none else could see,
He took his time strolling slowly to what had been his and his dear’s
Favorite part of their neighborhood walk for more than forty years.
That thought tugs a string running through his aging soul (since she walks along “no-mo”)
But it’s been tugged so often and by so very much of late, he just lets it go.
The man’s grumpy veneer wavers as he turns up the alley just next door.
Yet with stream running alongside, it isn’t just an alley in neighborhood lore.
The old man has taken to calling it Ersatz Creek, though few know the joke therein,
But an irrigation ditch has given this two-block stretch a zone with its very own zen.
Backyard fences, trees and flowers, even curious wildlife serve sweet solace here,
And the hurried exerciser slows one’s pace as a kind of meditation spreads inner cheer.
Into this rich world the old man descends, a favored but seldom sought target in mind,
He slowly strolls, resolved to really see each flower, bee, and floating leaf his eyes can find.
Reaching where path and Creek diverge, he edges past a tree into a secluded place.
By wear, he’s sure others come here when cares become nearly too much to face,
A little time, perhaps a bit of prayer, allowing the Stream to wash away worries and such debris.
The old man sits alone for a while, then thinks, “Perhaps this time my Creek washes away me.”
By day six I was antsy
Stayed in my room all morning
I knew this would happen
While the glass-shatter of the ocean waves
And yelps of surprise from scores of little kids
Drifted in
Through my opened balcony doors
From the beach below
Made the mistake of paying attention to my phone
And the more I did
It seemed
The more emails dinged
Like an elevator arriving at my floor.
Last night a waiter ruined it all
As my wife and I were showing off
Dining outdoors at a fancy restaurant.
At first he thought us hicks
With a giant yawn in front of us
But then we spent $15.00 x 4 Specialty Mules in chilled copper cups
And $27.00 on a spicy Tuna Tar-Tar special-of-the-night appetizer
Sea Bass 40 bucks
Rib Eye 45
He then brought an ashtray though I had no cigarette
Told him we’d finish it off right
With cheesecake scooped in homemade raspberry sauces $17.00
By then we’d been there an hour and a half
Though I made a deal with the waiter
Don’t rush us and we won’t rush you
He said deal
So the female manager delivered the delectable cheesecake
With the bill.
I handed over my card and asked for two spoons
Asked her if gratuity was included
Yes she said 18% and rolled her eyes
Flapped off
I added another 30
She swooped back like a seagull for a dropped French fry
Flew away with the signed bill
And just as we teetered up from our little table
Taut with white table cloth
To walk back to our hotel
Amongst the lighted jewels of Collins Avenue
The waiter popped his head out
And yelled across the patio packed with North Miami elite
Thank you for the extra tip!
I thought as if
He was just checking that we hadn’t made a dumb mistake
Or was using us
To shame the others.
That’s when I got homesick for Michigan
Because I wasn’t sure.
Cyril Flint walked Buckton’s center street,
the new sheriff of this Nebraska town,
he walked his beat, pacing up and down,
content to take in the cool morning’s peace.
A shot rang out, Cyril turned his head,
nobody ran throughout the small ville,
no people into the dusty street spilled,
instead more shots came, flying lead.
He raced for McCrullers's great bank,
it was from here the shots had come,
he heard screams amidst the guns,
his stomach rose, and courage sank.
A scatter-gun blasted out a window,
Cyril drove behind a large horse-trough,
said,”Where the hell is Deputy Scott?!
He should be here, where did he go?”
Voices laughed amidst the madness,
Cyril could hear three storming outside,
he knew he should shoot, but much as he tried,
the fear struck him with paralysis.
“The damn bastards are getting away!”
That was the shout that came at him,
from the town’s barber, Old Dandy Jim,
but Cyril’s gun hand would not raise.
Another cried,“They killed deputy Scott!”
It came from the widow Allandale,
she stepped out of the bank, so frail
that she teetered about like a top.
Cyril finally managed to stand up,
walked gingerly to the bank’s door,
saw six bodies lying on the floor,
then heard voices, loud and rough:
“Where were you, oh Sheriff Flint?
Hiding down low like a damned snake,
when lives and money they did take,
and you could not even go in!”
The words from Jim struck him hard,
He said,”I, uh, see, my deputy—”
“Don’t even try that stuff with me!”
Charged Jim,”You yellow coward!”
Cyril couldn’t speak up for himself,
he felt the knives of probing glares,
wanted to run away from there,
so he slinked back behind the hotel...
CONCLUDES IN PART II
Implanted in the deepest dark, a darkness resides.
Taunting, tormenting sculpting my soul
The dejection carved a life left incomplete,
With hope urging me to retreat.
The penumbra urges me to put an end to my distress
Deeply embedded from birth to the hopes of my death.
I was swiftly nearing the end of my rope.
Desperation clawing at my soul.
I cried out to that name that gave others hope.
“JESUS!!”
I bawled, my heart drowning in tears.
Unexpectedly, a significant presence appeared,
Enveloped by a radiant celestial glow.
With a voice that resonated like a thunderbolt, he spoke.
“I am the truth and the light.
I have died for you, sacrificing myself to give you life.”
As the enemy’s stronghold tightened its grip,
The situation became more dire as I continually slipped.
I couldn’t accept God’s words; I could not comprehend.
Sadness and pain were my constant companions.
Always by my side a personal assassin.
As I teetered on the edge of a dark abyss.
Suffocating my joy; hindering my bliss.
The voice of Divinity, never giving up,
His spirit poured into me like a flood.
He embraced me nevertheless and held me tight.
I felt safe as the enemy’s grip lost its might.
Whispering, I asked, “Who are you?
That you give me a life to choose?”
With a simple reply, he said, “I Am the I Am.”
Reject the lies and embrace the truth.
Finally, responding to God’s call,
Surrendering, I discovered a declining wall
A surge of divine light filled my soul.
Transforming my sorrow.
Making me whole.
I teeter on the brink of possibility.
The sun on the new horizon glistens
its rays on the undulating sea of change.
I gaze a while, drifting with a squawking gull,
or diving with a hunting cormorant -
lost in my imagination, caught in plausibility.
Sometimes a gust of wind unsettles my balance;
I totter into uncertainty, struggling to stand,
but you take my hand and steady me.
Now I only look ahead; no way back.
The chasm is inviting me to jump;
to take a leap of faith and ditch the doubt.
I place my baggage at my feet;
packages of responsibility and confusion
tucked in neatly and nestling with the past.
One last tug at the sleeve of my coat
as they make a last ditch attempt to restrain me,
and I have jumped - flying through the air, free.
As I land I see you there smiling and safe,
arms outreaching. The promise of the future beckons,
and looks inviting, exciting and full of hope.
Once I teetered on the brink of possibility
now it is a glistening reality. The sea is calm now.
And, as the sun sets on the horizon, I am home.
(note: to all my lovely friends who thought I was literally considering leaping into a chasm to
my death, I can assure that I am most certainly not!!! It is merely a metaphorocal chasm,
and I intend to stick around for quite a while yet. Heavens, I am just about to have a book
published, life is very good! Thanks so much for your concern though)
Lots of calculation......
goes into the jump
x=y+5 x e=mc2
To stop you ending in a lump!
That's what I am told...........
It's on the back of the ticket I was sold!
Well here I go....
Ready for the last throw
High on a hill,
a lonely bridge span
Six hundred foot drop!
I nearly ran!
With a mighy effort of will
I trudged to the top!
Push comes to shove.......
So they say
I waited in the queue
Twiddling my thumbs
Not knowing what to do!
What a day!
Soon it was my turn...
Ouch! This heart burn!
Won't go away
Can I do this another day?
I stepped forward..........
Remembering the calculation
on the ticket I was sold!
Was it marketing information?
Or marketing gold?
My ankles were lashed together.........
My weight taken
That calculation I pinned my hopes on
I hope they wern't mistaken!
I teetered on the edge...........
on a very small ledge
With a great lungful of air,
With a nervous step........
I fell with flair!
I was gathering speed...........
watching the rocks below........
the calculations going through my mind
not far to go....
I must be blind!
I was progressively slowing
My blood,flowing
Then up I went!
my courage spent!
The rocks below
Don't bother me so!
So, witha boing up!
and a boing down!
I conquered the elastic!
I feel fantastic!
I'm going to town
I know what for
I need to see about chapter four!
"You deserve the entire universe."
"You are amazing, and if only you could see yourself the way I saw you, you'd believe that."
"I'm always here for you, because I love you to bits, and I'll never stop loving you. No matter what you become."
"Suicide isn't worth it; you'd lose so much! The talent you were given, the love we have for you; the treasure trove hidden inside you!"
Those were words she'd seen before
Sometimes, she'd written them
Other times other people wrote them,
But it was always for someone else;
Someone who truly suffered worse than she did.
But that didn't stop her from wishing
That someday
Someway,
Someone would take her hand
And say those very same words.
She hoped that on a day
When she truly felt like ending her life
On a day when she was just done with it all
On a day when the pain was too much to bear alone
She hoped that like in the many fairytales
And fictions
And poems she'd read
And the pictures she'd drawn
Someone cared about her the way she cared about them
Someone would notice that her soul was going to be crushed soon
That her heart was plummeting into hell
And take her hand.
She hoped that just as she teetered on the brink of death,
A caring hand would reach out and grasp her wrist and pull her back
And a voice would say,
"You don't have to die today."
She hoped, but that was all she could do,
Because that person
Apparently didn't exist.