Long Unaccustomed Poems
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The waves dash themselves
Against the rocks,
Sending geysers of spray
High over the seawall,
Half drowning the cars
That are creeping slowly
Through the sandy lakes
Forming on the road.
The wind screams
And pounds its fists in a
Tantrum on car windows.
The angry sea hisses
And spits a frothy foam
Onto the curling mountains of
Emerald and blue-black water.
A lone cormorant dips and bobs,
Appears and disappears
In the unaccustomed,
Roiling surface of the salt
Pond across the road.
Beyond, the trees whip and
Thrash their arms,
Moaning and keening
In the driving sheets of rain.
Pieces of their shattered limbs
Litter the roadway, and
A single strand of wire
Flips back and forth,
Sparking red in the gloom.
People park their cars
Away from falling limbs
And dash for leaf-strewn
Porches, chairs all spun awry.
They shed their dripping coats
And watch the raging storm
Wreak havoc, safely, from inside!
WONDERSTRUCK
One day, I was doing some work,
My dad came and gave me a jerk,
Told me to follow silently,
I obeyed him excitedly,
I asked him what it was about,
He said, “Look”, and cleared all my doubt;
A garden lizard was digging
Patiently, as time was ticking,
I sat in a chair, watched in awe,
How she was digging with her paw;
I saw two more garden lizards,
One looked much like grandpa wizard,
The other must’ve been her husband,
They seemed to be unaccustomed
To whate’er was happening there,
I could only in wonder stare;
Soon she turned and slowly settled,
Started laying eggs, so little,
One by one, they dropped in the hole,
Fifteen cute eggs, all white and whole;
I was wonderstruck at that sight,
A once-in-a-lifetime delight,
I thank God for His creations,
And for that day’s revelations,
Nature’s beauty leaves me spellbound,
God’s wonders everywhere surround.
11.22.2021
Unaccustomed to happiness, we sit exiled from the light.
Coiled tight in our shells, never sharing in delight.
But like a beacon of hope showing us the path that is right.
Love has found its way and remains burning like a torch so bright.
Love has arrived like a train pulling its coaches with such might.
Memories of love seem to flicker in the carraiges moving light.
But still doubt lingers, like blinds covering happiness from our sight.
Old memories masking our thoughts, but don't let it be our blight.
Let love envelope us, with a comforting cloak and hold us tight.
There'll be no more scurrying around in the shadows cast by the night.
Time to emerge from the murkiness and past traumas, we must extradite.
Love is all we require and our love will always be non finite.
Written 2019
Inspired by Maya Angelou
There is a river nearby
A black green mystery of water
That standing at one end
One can hardly see the dim
Outline of trees on the other side.
The river is deep
And in the stillness
Of early morning
A mist comes
Off it
So thick and impervious
That you literally can't
See your hand
In front of your face.
We frequented the place
My father and I
On Sunday mornings
After the sun burned the mist away
I, as usual, hurrying up
To keep up with him.
Years later when I left home
My father shook my hand
A formality I was
Unaccustomed to
And one that left me puzzled.
Awkwardly, we said goodbye
Then he walked away
His broad back
Slowly fading
Into the caverns of Grand Central
Until he disappeared
In the noise and smoke of
The station.
When the train whistle blew
My heart jumped
I felt a thrill
Of adventure
My life had a purpose
Finally, I was on my own!
Events tell a story
I made mistakes
Stumbling from impossible dreams
To vague ideas
And found that loneliness
Was all intimidating
Painfully, I realized
All I had to offer life
Was my own confusion.
Not every life has a storybook ending
And mine was no different
I retuned home
After one year.
Restless one night
I stood on the river's edge
Listening to a solitary boat crossing the river
Plying its cargo up and down the coast
In the darkness a buoy gave up its warning
A deep clanging sound in the mist
Turning to see where the sound came from
I stood motionless
And listened
There was nothing but silence
And the soft lapping of waves on the shore
As it was since the beginning of time.
In the quiet
I remembered the early morning walks with my father
A familiar Sunday morning ritual
I now missed.
Overhead a moon shone
Casting a pale light on everyone and everything
And I stood still
Knowing that I had lost my way
Knowing that the river was calling from the night
Knowing that I was a solitary figure
Lost in America.
I can remember passing through
this town as a child,
stopping for a pie
on our way north.
Now it’s bypassed – barely more
than a clot lodged
in the spidery veins of a map.
Most of the houses are empty,
the bakery is gone.
I've come here again and stop
to walk beneath
a verandah’s pinholed shade,
past the general store,
the post office
and a butcher shop -
all shut.
Behind windows,
generations of dead blowflies
have left a black crust
piled against the glass.
Some hang from webs
like frozen pendulums
hollowed out by spiders
and passing time.
Across the street an asphalt
school yard is dissolving into grass.
I think about the children
who once skipped
and ran headlong
into their lives from here,
where now a clapped out truck
sits propped up on bricks.
Dumped and stripped of worth
an open bonnet seems to gape
its final breath.
Further up the street,
the scars left
by two world wars
are etched in a modest memorial
to the town's fallen youth.
I run my fingers slowly
down the list of names
and whisper each
into the ethereal silence
in which they rest.
This age has made them unreal.
Elevated on the nations alters
they seem unaccustomed
to the height.
Their age has them stalking
the nearby hills, irreverent,
all too young, blasting rabbits
and empty beer bottles
lined up like soldiers
with their fathers guns.
At the end of the street,
a gutted church squats like
a full stop to the town.
Nothing is beyond except
a gravel road to somewhere else
and a small cemetery
of lichened headstones.
The last person buried here, I read,
was Helen O’Brien who died
in august sixty five
and beside her, a year before,
her daughter, aged just four.
I make my way back
and reach out
to the ghosts that inhabit
this place but can't connect.
A feral cat slinks off
into the shadows of the pub.
Few cars stop here anymore.
Thirty minutes drive away
a multi laned highway
barrels traffic to the coast.
There, towering apartments
glaze the sky where rooms,
like empty shells,
murmur the lonely sound
of breaking waves.
Sometimes there are evenings
when a sadness rides a breeze
from inland to the coast
and goes unnoticed,
except perhaps for a child
who grows silent
and stares at something
wandering the distances
way beyond the reach
of grown up sight.
Love's the greatest emotion
the human heart can conceive.
But, like any miracle,
it's real if you believe.
Lust ignites passion's flame
within hearts numbed by neglect.
Yet, places you in danger
of losing your self-respect.
Gathering remnants of tears,
doubt scuttles a hopeful heart.
And it is devastating,
to watch your dreams fall apart.
Betrayal stabs trusting hearts,
over and over again.
And leaves you crying inside,
unaccustomed to such pain.
Feelings of uncertainty,
converge to obscure your fate.
And soon, the specter of fear,
turns elation into hate.
Long ago, there came to the garden in which I’d been planted
a stranger who admired me in the spring of my life.
Tall was he; dark and gorgeous too.
He kept visiting my garden spot while singling me out
from the other lovely blossoms surrounding me
and who also called this large garden their home.
Sweet words he whispered through the garden fence.
His words became the susurration of the almost daily breezes
which he brought with him to caress my petaled face.
As he became less a stranger,
I longed more and more each day
to see him watching me outside the garden’s fence
which protected me from strangers,
or so I thought . . .
One day this handsome man flung open the gate to the garden.
Taking me by surprise, he strode right up to me
and stroked my blushing cheek.
Unaccustomed to unsolicited attention such as his,
I could do no more than stay posed there as always,
trembling all the way to the bottom of my stem.
Simply catching a glimpse of him
became all that I was living for that spring.
And although my soul was bursting with poetry,
I knew my role as a fenced-in rose.
Unable to voice my thoughts to him,
I could only bask in the warmth
of his amazing gaze, which eventually
I noticed being cast upon other flowers too.
Toward the end of that short spring season,
my spirit began to wilt, for I knew that this man
would be passing by no longer.
Here I stand as usual in my garden space,
for always I grow back, blooming again and again.
Many springs have come and gone
as well as some of my flower friends I used to know.
Others have withered away forever.
I too will wither away when only God can say,
and the handsome man my soul once yearned for
is but a melancholy memory of unrequited love,
which more importantly, I can look back on and realize
was not real love at all.
By Jove...Zeus cleft Eos tacit alibi
pact wrought since time
immemorial bye and bye
temporarily, symbolically,
and unwaveringly
superstitions, phenomenal mysteries
jaw dropping eve vents out of sky
explained where within fie
foo fighting mythological
pantheon, the dualistic forces
of light and dark
didst die whar,
yours truly did e'er lee ask why,
and simultaneously warily eye,
whence no idea why
aboot twelve hours prior,
predictable regular
tug of war try
ensued, when twilight didst sigh
leant lee enshroud
the dusky sky
light speedily seeped away,
hence nightly raiment
of Astraeus predictably quashed,
nee wrested with nary a cry
this September twenty ninth,
unusual wakefulness state
crafted golden opportunity
didst nudge me fort hoo try
to maximize spate of bright
tailed and bushy eyed,
state, which rare
quotidian event, I
unfortunately rarely espy,
cuz my circadian rhythm
usually well nigh
finds me sound asleep at least
til mid morning this guy,
thus flush with more
energy than usual aye
make a feeble (minded) attempt
to nudge, kickstart, and coalesce,
viz nebulous thoughts within my
fog enshrouded noggin
unable, unaccustomed,
and unwillingness
relented for me to pry
opened tightly shut – cubed bricked
hermetically sealed
steel trap eyelids
ocular orbs didst defy
Herculean dramatic attempt
yielded futile tussle,
where outcome brought
stellar surprise high
hoe, a spectacular dawn
scene rarely seen by this guy.
I am the Devil, alone in my Room
Redolent of pungent cologne and perfume
Naked I parade, in front of my mirror
No leering or catcalls, nothing to fear here
Incantantations I utter, so weird, so strange
Ha! There's no one around to call ME deranged
I make my way to my bed, a kingly throne
Where I curl up with my pet rat, telling bedbugs, "Begone!"
Time now to cross-dress: Where's my pitchfork and tutu?!
My adoring subjects dare not label ME 'Cuckoo!"
Alas, there' begun a steady knock at the door
It's Mom or it's Dad, unaccustomed to wait... But
"I'M NAKED AS A JAYBIRD, HIGH UP ON A ROCK!" So...
Just one more second, revered elders, while this pistol I load
~ As I prepare to return to my fiery abode...
“better a rebel, a nerd, than a blind follower of the herd”
_____________________________________________
Buddha urged to illuminate darkness
Set forth towards the closest habitation
His countenance aglow with luminescence
Was asked by a passerby cause of his elation
Buddha replied that he was the one, the Arahant
Light that lights all lights, eternal God essence
Master of elements, glory of enlightenment
His aura bestowing soul transcendence
Buddha’s affirmation fell on deaf ears
No one grasped his words seemingly vain
Earth bound weary souls caged in myriad fears
Try as they might, exalted wisdom could not ingrain
Thus came about the need for wisdom intermediate
The four noble truths in easy symbolic language
Eight fold path being way to heavens gate
Simplified teaching became a rage
Narrow mind oriented to resist
Accepts not authenticity of oneness
Unaccustomed to light, our delusion persists
Feeding ego cravings in delusion of separateness
Most religions therefore opt to contour the ultimate truth
Subtly hinting towards the single underlying reality
Knowing we may not embrace God forsooth
Urging practices to infuse in heart purity
Spirituality on the other hand is direct
Unfettered by ritual, custom or blind belief
Head and heart with love aligned, stance erect
Directly imbibed wisdom gives soul permanent relief
21-July-2021