Long Unanticipated Poems
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There is a presence to a Sunday morning,
an ease. People waiting on line for their
coffee seem more animated, less agitated,
friendlier….almost chatty. The traffic seems
to get along better too. No schedules demand
cut throat tactics to beat the next red light.
School buses, along with their riders, are
tucked away for the weekend. The hum of
the tires on the pavement seems almost
musical, soothing, in a movingstillness
kind of way. Joggers seem more relaxed,
their dogs less pressured to “get it done”.
Ducks idly talk to their shadows. Church
bells chime more jubilantly echoing over
the breaking day. We sit. Two old men
sipping hot coffee. Reveling in the present,
reminiscing about the past, in no hurry
for the future. An elderly woman ambles
past, smiling at the blowing leaves,
shuffling her feet in mock childhood frolic.
Cyclists relax into a near traffic-less rhythm
of wheels, spokes, gears - grinning into the
chill breeze of November. The firehouse
doors are open, the firefighters resting
between rounds, trucks sitting idle in
the bays, hoses rolled and ready. Two
squirrels play tag in front of a blue house
disappearing into piles of leaves only
to re-emerge atop a fence post. A grey
and white cat lays motionless nearby.
There is no rush to the cadence of the
churchgoers. It appears they may have
already entered into the day’s prayer.
A gentle sense of unanticipated hope
pervades the subtleties of life.
There is a presence to a Sunday morning.
John g. Lawless
11/8/2015
In the late interlude of existence, a woman,
Readies herself to step into the celebration of her seventieth year.
She asks, has she found the soul's peace,
Fulfillment, the joy of life, or does she still wander
In search of answers to old questions,
Returning to "what if's” in a world devoid of echoes.
Her descendants prepare for her a grand celebration,
Her grandchildren, stars around her, shining to honor the occasion.
Are they the mirror of her pride?
Or is her heart weighted with ungiven time,
Persistent worries, endless wishes for better?
The extended family gathers, in this festive moment,
Yet she feels distant, a stranger in her own narrative.
Life has not followed her dreams; it has been a path of storms,
But from each trial, she learned to be strong,
To embrace her days with gratitude, to leave phantoms behind,
To graciously accept the unanticipated gifts of fate.
Once asked about future plans,
She dreamed of grandeur, yet found only silence in responses.
Now, with serene wisdom, she whispers her creed: "let it be",
Finding answers in the song of stars, in the breeze's caress.
Her dreams, unfulfilled, but never forsaken,
Urge her to dream anew, to reinvent,
To live each moment, to carve her own path of happiness,
For in the end, you are the architect of your own life.
Thus, this woman, free from the concerns of tomorrow,
Dances to rhythms of eternity, living in the present,
Changing with each day like a gentle balm,
Embracing life, in all its complexity, with an open heart.
Ahhh... to live each moment as an endless gift,
In this mystical tableau, where every verse is a melancholic sigh.
A single white rose stands, swaying in wheezy wind
Got a glimmering glimpse of it in the dewy dawn.
On the carpet of green, as a dreamy dame she swings,
Demure and slightly bent on a magical monsoon day.
A fine flower with petite petals, delicate,
Yet sheltered by sharp stinging thorns that pierce.
Rain drops drip off her vaporous velvety face
As unanticipated tears rush down from one’s eyes.
She is fairer far than anything one can spot
Her petals, so silky and soft, spun by angels of heaven.
Oh, symbol of grace, you rock me in dazzling delight,
And in me a thousand poetic fancies ignite!
May 2024 was the month I knew I would never work again.
Pneumonia in January and February convinced me to retire.
I had given my notice back then; school would be out May 28th.
My seventy-second birthday was May 31; I would be retiring June 1st.
I did not volunteer for field day this year, although I usually did.
Illness kept me away from school a few days the last week.
I did not feel guilty, I felt validation this was God’s plan for me.
Retirement is nothing I had looked forward too.
I felt my body was forcing me into it, and I was a bit irritated.
Two retirement parties did not make retirement feel real.
I had been working since I was sixteen, working was my way.
The minute I was checked out from my boss, I left, fleeing the place.
I forgot to leave my badge, so I ran back in and gave it to a friend.
Her check out time was in an hour, and I did not want to be called back.
I knew my time was over; I was on my way to a new unanticipated life.
Leaving work me behind was the hardest thing I have ever done.
Life is a lesson you learn it as you live
a schools education is given to a kid
getting Grade A papers, isn’t that splendid
but you’re a human being and that means you are stupid
Understanding logic and the patterns in the brain
but some people are toxic in these ways we can’t explain
knowing educated logic and behaviours aren’t the same
you can’t predict the people who are out to cause you pain
you’ll never know what rules are used when forced to play their game
things are unexpected in such ways we cannot train
at school you might be clever but this life drives you insane
people do what people do when desperate for a win
the unanticipated move you perceive to be a sin
it will cause frustration and your patience will wear thin
when these people go at you they’ll get right under your skin
when there’s no one you can tell then it is down to you
don’t think your education tells you what you need to do
wisdom comes with age learning what you never knew
things the young have never done as they’ve not needed too
so take in what your elders say the things they have been through
because they’ve been where you are right now, yes they were young like you
trust me they’ve seen this before and know just what to do
they will point you in a way that you just never knew
one day you will be older and will help somebody too
But while you’re young trust me you’re dumb and haven’t got a clue
because true education is from life you’ve not been through
there is no test nor text book there’s no way you can prepare
for what you’ll know when you are old when you have lost your hair
An apt gift of presence empowers
as an unanticipated
unearned warning misfortune
enlightens apt rapt resilient fortune,
Delighted with discovering,
perhaps rediscovering?
healthy passions I would never have been wise enough
to look up for
nor hunt down.
Timing
is everything.
Time regenerates everywhere,
erupts every when
disrupts every what
corrupts every why
every how;
and merely every thing
somehow?
Nature trained
senses engrained
spirit deep and wide neuro-systemic brained
Transforming change in forbidding appearance
forms strange
grotesquely disempowering
transmogrified degenerative monocultures
Transubstantiating change of inside communion substance
elements
figments
as invisible as unpresented polyculturing presents
not light yet
not still
not quite actively accessible to sense-powered
cognize-able felt reception,
Unformed except for past internal images
body reimagined
rememories
not yet memed,
polyculturally represented
Polypathically etched,
but not yet iconically written
integral sacred secularizing social senses
nonsenses
unsenses
resenses
presensing
Apt presents empower
as yet unlearned warnings enlighten
coincidental apt light
empowering presence
enraptured bright.
"A Perfect Murder Scene"
underneath the gun metal clouds
two bodies imprinted
splayed bookmarked at the waterline
uncannily close
distance would never separate that twin set
the ocean of tears washing over them lachrymose
the day was extraordinarily ordinary
yet the unanticipated came rushing in surprising
two lives captured, seemingly drowned
carried away on the rip, ripped apart, far from shore
thrown for the risk of running
away from it all
eventually like double dice
the Ocean like a roiling bitter life
spits them both back out, not wanting them,
they are the gamble
rolled back in on the wake, washed clean
like a scene wound backwards
scratched and mottled, 8mm frame
slow motion the prostrate dead they rise like ghosts
wound up, holding hands walking backwards
up the sand dunes
not a care in the world
the guns in the clouds all gone
the sun now shining
reversing down the path, hand in hand,
an old movie to who knows where
smiles wide and laughing, hand in hand
the woman and child
out of frame, in the margin unseen,
the murderer plays his shot
all over again, he loves his bad dream
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“Because it was regular film, it was Light sensitive. You had to be very careful when loading and unloading the cartridge.”
scene.
seen.
In the bounded citadel of slumbering souls,
Where the search is mute and the waiting - an unwritten world,
Wrestling roots of unplanned love twist and coil,
Bursting wild in the field where reason holds no visa.
While thought slumbers under a vault of silver, unasking,
Restless hearts, unsummoned, play in the meadow of time,
Men and women, without haste, never stalking the measure of moments,
Meet like two stars, in a galaxy of feverish, secret feelings.
Among the waves of time that break their crests in silence,
Therein, suddenly, two spirits find themselves in an enchanted dance.
They do not seek, they do not hope, they do not anticipate - what will be, will be - a delight
That sprouts discreetly, in the calm, as the day wraps itself in the discreet twilight.
Thus is born love - a king and queen of happenstance,
In a realm slightly hidden from the malevolent decrees of the world,
Where cauldrons of longing are overturned, without witnesses, without companionship,
And in the chests conceal butterflies of flames, in hearts brimming with divine dreams.
This love shatters legions of conceived walls,
Like vapors raising the prisons of logic to the heavens, all.
It comes placidly, on waters of smoke, into well-watched souls,
And settles gently, never overgrown by its fate, far-reaching.
Through it, the purest of affections are revealed, without calling,
In a world where the mind lays down, in a starry night gown,
Allowing the heart to follow its course - queen over its own realm of dreams -
Special and mysterious, unexpected and unanticipated love, but never forgotten.
The glory of America,
now heats up
with agitation poised
to strike on the brink
sans legislation incites humiliation,
which goads desecration
as fete accompli chink
in armor of Democratic rubric,
constituting capitalistic
ethic, generic iconoclastic,
and jingoistic logic,
nor budging an inch
when mandating masses
swallow his drink
what huff huck –
this belligerent, dominant and
fervent hellraiser doth
bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit Marshall law
fast as a shutterfly eyewink
as his cosmic crotch grab
doth put Venus under his sway
with his Mercury hill temperament
pitches the orbit of planet Earth
tubby comb out of balance
infected by hiz anti Jew pitter
damnations, excoriations, fulminations
Huzzah sing how whiz derriere
didst Sat urn simultaneously
crushing crucible as an Uranus
indiscriminately plopping
two hundred fifty pounds of flesh
doubling down humming
his favorite Neptune
that dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
repeating a self coined motto –
I yam almighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering the reins of control,
a one man military intelligence groupthink
hut triad and true dyed in the wool
rip pug in ant guise zing rogue
rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink
king the die hard fans of dictatorial,
linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving on
wielding indomitable aggression
practiced in the Art of the Deal
incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning down
vis a vis pro pens heave lee
and prop hen city
flashing hiz seal of approval,
which scribbled signature
doth not smooth arctic monkey
serve hay puzzling kink
boot his frenzy to bulldoze
catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
spells these United States
of America will become hell
in a handbasket worth repeating
with nary a trace of the grit of link
kin, the sixteenth president,
(whose ruggedly pioneering frontier existence)
found him steady and strong,
plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitome of this forty fifth
elected commander in mischief.
As quiet blackness deepened
I lay awake my heart in check,
The cool night wind blew
And welcome silence grew…
_______
Unanticipated music exploded
Roused me from bed rest,
I tiptoed to its source:
Dark sounds from downstairs,
Nearer, higher, and louder
Till it reached the hallway.
He grasped my hand,
Whirled it to turn me twice,
Held me close, went on trotting steps
Slow, quick, quick; slow, quick, quick;
Slow, slow, quick, quick...
He never gets tired, he liked the dance.
He led; I followed - his greatest joy;
In perfect timing to his bidding,
I swayed wherever he flung me,
His steps were full of variation –
He liked it that way;
While I only had one reaction –
Receive his urgings.
Perfect dance he'd always say because
It is with such ease when partner is open
That controlled movement is played.
Ungraceful dance I never liked,
But all this time it kept me alive:
His music and diverse steps I sought
And to it I humbly swayed.
Tonight I let him led again,
Just like the other days and nights.
The darkness of the night was strained,
It was only the curtains that were swaying,
To the night breeze with grace,
Stark of light peeped out from the room,
My hands and feet went frozen like ice,
I heard a different tune within, sad, weary,
But slowly roused with excitement
And anger underneath... Heated me up
Ablaze, my eyes red-stained -
He held me closer to him, and I -
Pulled myself too tight to him
He was pleased I saw it in his sated eyes
As I meekly submitted… for the last time.
We did slow, quick, quick steps for a two
Or more and then he let me go; I trotted
Far away from him then back to him
Without his behest, and out of rhythm
His steps were outside our dance floor…
Down the stairs...In open position he lay there,
In his face I saw his dance - the macabre
dance - I never liked at all. His eyes dazed –
He had his final dance with me after all.
_____
The night was cold, yet I felt warm, and the music gone,
The curtains stopped swaying at the night winds’ prodding.
-maria
8/11/14