Long Tip of the iceberg Poems
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Spelling, syllable count, vanity, too simple, Simon! Be prolific, cruel, smart, up to par, above the bar, fit for the stage. Tap, tap, tap…
—by poet
The Prismatic Self
See the wooden stage, markers for my feet, bright lights, great expectations, critical analysis. Curtains will open any minute as my words make an entrance. Will my opening lyrics draw a crowd? Who will be in attendance? The theater’s not likely sold out.
Backstage, the sponsors, who are they? ATTENTION! As if a teacher wields a pointer, tapping at my feet. Will the audience throw erasers?
On the palm of my hand, the rules - perhaps strict, but I’m not in fear of a stickler. Trained by the nuns in love and hate knuckles.*
Lots of rules, I might have to practice the act for quite a bit longer. I practice in my dressing room, trying on outfit after outfit - those flouncy forms or something simple and succinct.
Am I a people pleaser? Do I perform at the pleasure of the King or Queen? Or am I my own worst critic?
Yes! Yes! Yes! No!
I desire to be seen but I will yield. There is something more important than being the lead. Still, I must confess, I must run back to my little box, mime my tears, dread my limitations, take a breath and when I am ready - take a bow.
At the onset, I must build my own backdrop, backstory, be vague and understood. I run my lines quickly, slowly, go over them again and again, even as I recite them freely, as a monoku or Shakespearian sonnet; or get even more elaborate.
I labor over each word, its placement, its meaning. I don’t care! I do care! I must feel it practically perfect; though I will let it go. Eventually, it will be a comedy of errors, erroneously erupting past the stage, in the rubber hands of cause and effect. The sponsor’s Marlboro ashes fall on it, without understanding my heartfelt meaning; my wings clipped as I await the list…the dreaded and dreadful list. Most surprised when I am the cream, alone - floating at the top.
**Fastbreast, blushing, aghast, euphoric. That sponsor is exact. I do not grow prideful. I do glow. The tip of the iceberg shows, all other words sunken, below. In leotards, the ships pass by, having a look - one clips itself.
*conceit
**Fastbreast - heart beating rapidly (Neologism)
When I was a kid, Watson and Crick’s discovery of DNA
Was still a bit like science fiction and not completely understood
Dreams of curing cancer, never growing old, viral vaccinations
Mapping out the human genome would make them proud of us
Splicing genes with CRISPR Cas9 Vectors
Is still only just the beginning,
We’ve barely touched the tip of the iceberg
Still, one day, like in the Star Trek universe
With a simple shot from hypo spray
No more COVID and Dr. Flox would send us on our way
But life is not TV land
I suppose God must have other plans
Perhaps He’s not so pleased that
Science is the new religion of this Day N Age
He’s really going to be surprised when we scrape the shroud of Turin
For some Jesus DNA
And clone the Son of God so we can look him in the eyes
And pray tell we may say,
“What the hell have we done, oh Spliceosome?”
These facts must be taught in our schools:
Donald's tweets can trump molecules
Fools believe science
Truth has no reliance
Grasp pussy and not climate rules!
Author’s Note: I regularly talk to an observer who travels all over the USA. The report back is that the people in the middle of the country don’t care about climate change because they believe a rise in sea level will only affect the coasts, and they don’t worry about that. However, they don’t realize that this is just the tip of the iceberg. The effects are now lining up to make life as we know it impossible for everyone everywhere. The laws of economics are a subset of the inescapable laws of nature. I thought I would never be around for the end of the world, but now I am not so sure.
A reputation in shambles
Was it worth the gamble
When you paint the sky orange
Everyone knows
It's supposed to be blue
So who are you to decide otherwise
Just a counterfeit king
With questionable authority
And a facade of moral superiority
Is just the tip of the iceberg
Beyond the sky
Is a kingdom wrought with gold
But you sold your ticket
For a pocket of heartache
And a soul full of sorrow
You simple, simple boy
How it all fell apart so easily
And now you sit alone
At a table with only your thoughts
Each one declaring you a tyrant
Too trapped in his own hype
To see you lost it all
Was it worth the gamble
And a reputation in shambles
In the book of Mark,
the words are short and concise
It speaks of all Jesus experienced
In His life
It makes mention of a place called
the wilderness
where Satan is a sly temptress
from the wilderness God will deliver you
into His promised land
for it's in the wilderness where you'll see
the power In His mighty hands
In the wilderness Satan will tempt sway and seduce
In the wilderness you must resist desist and deduce
that God will show you there is a better way
for its in the wilderness where you need to pray
from the wilderness God will deliver you
Into His promised land
for its in the wilderness where you'll see
the power in His mighty hands
the wilderness is a place of spiritual preparation
a test site to see if you're ready
for your final destination
it's the tip of the iceberg for what God has in mind
the opening act in the play of life called
God's kind
from the wilderness God will deliver you
Into His promised land
for it's in the wilderness where you'll see
the power in His mighty hands
understand the wilderness is just a test site
a place and opportunity for you to get it right
comprehend the Spirit is testing your conviction
and God wants to know what's your disposition
from the wilderness God will deliver you
into His promised land
for it's in the wilderness where you'll see
the power in His mighty hands
into the wilderness David fled from King Saul
in the wilderness, Israel had a forty year haul
Into the wilderness, Elijah ran from that Jezebel Spirit
into the wilderness Moses escaped
the persecution of Egypt
from the wilderness God will deliver you
Into His promised land
for it's in the wilderness where you'll see
the power in His mighty hands
In the wilderness Satan will tempt sway and seduce
In the wilderness you must resist desist and deduce
that until you're ready to submit, surrender
and serve the Lord
you'll stay in the wilderness until
you're ready to get on board
from the wilderness God will deliver you
into His promised land
for its in the wilderness where you'll see
the power in His mighty hands
I made a small declutter vow
To get myself unstuck
That every day I’ll toss one thing
And so far, I’m in luck.
My travel guides from years ago
To places I have been
Were easy things for me to trash,
A good place to begin.
Some macramé for hanging plants,
A box of potpourri
And dinnerware with chips or cracks
Were thrown away by me.
Of course, I’m near the very tip
(The iceberg’s down below),
But every day I’ll chip away
And find one thing to throw.
For sentimental fools like me
This takes a lot of thought.
Too bad the empty space will fill
With new stuff I have bought!
Future Prospects
Is it possible at once to defeat and be overcome by the disease?
Such extravagant forebodings dwindle in the fear of moment,
like a great visitation of the past that dwarfed the mayhem of WWI,
wonder if libertarians had qualm with “Spanish” Flu, or accepted it
as a benign nomenclature for a deadly virus wiping millions east and west.
But I'm showered with anxiety over the news of climbing toll and hospital shortages
while experts warn this is 'tip of the iceberg', but not any iceberg, why I suddenly feel they
all have Titanic in mind and the boats' shortages. Do not give tamely to plague of fears,
my mind searching frantically for the desire for courage that thrives in the heart of every great
calamity, for sure future's window stays resolutely closed without it, call it an unqualified view
of our future prospects vested in our present isolation and self-imprisonment, in the midst of our sadness and bewilderment, recognizing the enormity of the challenge ahead, posing as an
existential threat, a recurring nightmare stealing the fortunes of present generation, rudely
disrupting their routines, but hopefully only a dent on their dreams
What if our minds were like spider webs,
Spreading to the invisible realm?
Beyond the brain seems blissfully insane
Like a transcendental spell.
While science is keen to explain our dreams
And thoughts in pure chemical terms,
I’ve often considered education is littered
With professors who’ve never quite learned.
Sometimes science needs a leap of faith
To move past dogmatic ground –
There’s more than enough evidence
Proving the existence of the Inexplicably Profound.
It’s the nature of the universe
From the immeasurable small to unfathomable wide
Connecting every sub-particle
From stardust to what’s inside.
Your head and mine were made sublime
By a miracle beyond comprehension -
While I have no doubt these thoughts I hold
Exist in many dimensions.
Michelangelo seemed to think so
As did Mozart, Beethoven and Jung –
But not even the tip of the iceberg
Of those who climbed the rungs.
Of the ladder towards the gateway
That leads to higher realms
Where thoughts pour forth like running gold
From a river all around.
As atheists deny, agnostics decry
And others follow suit -
While I take a stand and raise my hand
To the universe in salute.
Of every thought I’ve ever had
And memories bad and sweet -
Knowing someday I’ll prove the teachers wrong
And laugh myself to sleep.
While watching fish that school and twist
Tens of thousands by the count –
Simultaneous turns together
In one instant - turnabout.
Or birds of a feather sailing together
In a sudden course correction -
Instantly banking to and fro
In singular - unified perfection.
And mothers sensing peril
Of their young ones out of sight -
Phone calls made confirming
The feeling was quite right.
Something strange is in the air
Here and there and all around –
Permeating space and time
Through our minds and solid ground.
These thoughts I swear must come from nowhere
Inside this human head –
And I still believe and always will
Thought begins in a spider-web.
Football, for long a game of kicks,
To viewers oft of bare fists, bricks,
At times a show of gun,
At others filled with fun,
But now more of kickbacks it reeks.
It’s time FIFA gets yellow card
To warn: be fair and be on guard,
Let their flow some fresh breath,
Else, there’d be ‘sudden death’,
For you, your wards the same standard.
Should the warning prove not enough,
The game will get rough, make you puff,
Let cards yellow to red
Act as life kit for Fed,
When reason fails to rhyme, act tough.
__________________________________
Happenings | 13.05.2015, revised January 2024| Quintain
Poet’s Note: This poem was penned following a scandal involving kickbacks of millions of dollars by football’s FIFA officials which was only a tip of the iceberg, it looks as if some warning cards were needed like never before—for officials more than for the players. Here are three quintains, not with ababb rhyme scheme, but takes a limerick format.
I broke
my proper thumb
within venial borders
a shear from a bygone era
on your
tip of the iceberg
you spread a ruffle in my
bleeding shadows
we steer
the flow
on with the ebb and tideway
cutter with sawtoothed teeth
the scorn
of buoyant tethering
In a state of torpidity
5st PLACE CONTEST WINNER
Written: March 27, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND 1098 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived. ( Poem inspired by Poet Brian Strand Form)