Long Unattainable Poems
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The bond between spirit
and awareness may end
with an inner conflict...
while youth is vibrant
and somewhat wild!
Think about what
the years will do to the young ones
picking over the bones...
to arrange plans foolishly conceived:
will their outcry resound
at the end of the dawn?
And as the confused mind
asks itself why to surpass limits
and stay loyal and true
to the ideals not yet
understood with conviction?
Recognization is an accomplishment of merit,
while honorable victory or shameless defeat
don't stand on the same rewarding platform
by strengthening or lessening their significance;
the loser will quickly adjust to the new norm,
the winner will reject and continue to thrive!
The ones who hunger for adventure
will achieve their goal with constant strides;
the ones who hold back, showing doubts,
will dream vainly without their tenure
when the struggle is no longer sought:
the weak spirit relies upon a faint hope
and the unclear vision it can't grope!
Think about what the years will do to a young one
whose dreams can be realized without any stride,
but are they so unattainable without grit and drive?
Does anyone attains a trophy without struggle and feel fine?
Do heroes fear death and not fulfill their destiny?
Do they partake in the revelry of blood alone?
What was the idea to engage in a battle of clashing sounds...
and not being frightened by the blasting sounds of cannons?
A Dream !!! Monica - Reality ?.
Flakes of gold permeate my hours, diamond dust shrouds my time.
Snow streaked, golden haired, Autumn green eyed beauty – my rhyme
doth speak of – I try and get past all this glitter, in order to find
what is past ?, what is above ?, what is !, in this beautiful mind.
A beautiful mystery to me, is what I see in the enigmatic you.
In doubt, – with much uncertainty – I know not what to do.
With patience and understanding ?, is this what will bring through,
to the surface, all that you keep buried deep within – away from me too ?
Autumn green eyes, with flakes of gold, hide – diamond dust covers reality.
Emotions stifled – like ghosts caught in reflections – never seem to touch me.
A world of experiences I have heard, I understand, I have come to see,
Yet all that comes to light, into sight, does not let her be, does not set her free.
Could reality be ?, she has nothing for me, – it will never, to be shown,
heart felt, expressed affection, loving emotion, desire for more – I’ve known,
yet in spite, I know that within the deep caverns of her frozen heart, lies
a spirit – that upon finding the essence of its expectations – flies
to the unattainable, holds tightly closed, the doors to her heart, never wide,
does she open, to let in, never shares the gold flakes, diamond dust she hides
behind that tough façade she has painstakingly created from inside
to protect that fragile little girl – buried deep within – from a ride
back into the depths of a life that family, experience, lovers have created,
that have steeled her heart, her resolve, and maybe even fated
by powers greater than anything we mere mortals are able to comprehend ?
And so, life – I feel for me – will be a heart breaking comedy to its end.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reality
Becomes the heart ache, the pain in the pit of my soul – the loss of – not having !
The sadness I feel when parting, may come on the wings of knowing – having
experiences, with any depth, may never – for me – become a reality.
B. J. “A” 2
October 22nd 2006
Though no advocate of radical mass stick tummy,
there must needs be
some nonviolent modus operandi and/or
modus vivendi spelling abandonment,
whereby two party bicameral political
system in United States buzzfeed ding,
sans avarice, greed, nepotism... abasement
of sacrosanct principles enshrined in Constitution,
and Declaration of Independence clamor
for immediate attention to weedout,
uproot, stymie... crass, baseles, abhorrent...
exploitation of egregious abuse of power,
particularly of abolishment
vitiating sacred inalienable rights
vaingloriously, mercilessly, diffiantly...
killing (albeit courtesy of skulduggery),
hence requiring abortifacient
to terminate unfair fallout upon heads
(shoulders, knees, and toes)
of middle and lower class
countrymen/women nonabsorbent
to the countless injurious infractions
to manny innocent individuals
forcing vast majority of population
to become abstinent
asper the inherent abstract treasured gems
of life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness,
which once fledgling lucky accident
embarked upon by thirteen original
colonies bestowed opportunities
for migrants one and all to exalt
(amidst setbacks) many an accomplishment
unattainable in their (not so secure)
homeland when avast mecca of pristine
sea and sky invited fiercely
enterprising pioneers accouterment
to be plucked from the land, unfortunately
at mercy of indigenous people
(an unpardonable genocide), which blood,
sweat and tears allowed accruement
justly deserved personal,
or colonial achievement
Alaska's Highway to Nowhere
Unattainable goals are like dead-end roads;
Though lofty, they are a waste of time, effort, and money.
Grandiose in scale and impressive to construct,
The “Gravina bridge to nowhere” promised prosperity.
“Whose idea was that?”
Pork-barrel funding at its finest!
Earmarked in 2005
With a four-hundred-million-dollar price tag
To replace the ferry service across the Tongass Narrows
Challenges the mind: “Whatever for?”
From Ketchikan, Alaska, to Gravina Island,
A community of 50 residents and an airport
That became a major talking point
During the 2008 U.S. presidential election.
Through the Alaskan frontier,
A road follows the isle’s coastline for 3.2 miles,
And then the Gravina Island Highway ends
Where a bridge should connect but doesn’t exist.
Beautiful day
beautiful night
divided between
darkness and light
Colors arrayed
colors withdrawn
vanish at dusk
return at dawn
Ceaseless cycle
endless age
play their parts
on celestial stage
Some are born
some will die
on every turn
beneath the sky
Ages come
and ages go
as part of this
galactic show
That you and I
are spinning through
eternal space
is nothing new
Forever is a
long long time
a mountain with
an endless climb
There's nothing
I can do about
these mysteries
there is no doubt
They play around
inside my mind
so tantalizing
and unkind
So vast and
unexplainable
the answers
unattainable
I must accept
as here I sit
that I'm too blind
and slow of wit
to understand
these things, you see
but let's keep that
between you and me
That gilded cage
with its…
heavy quilted,
ironclad armour
is Home
to her soul
She's been busy
racking up layers
while her soul burrows
deeper
and deeper
yielding to the cage's allure
as it whirls through
timeless wormholes
birthed by life's orbit
Her soul carries on
swimming through
Sands of eternity
Oblivious
to the obvious realities
that cage is a Shield
though at times
it obscures the view
in its cleft, a haven is found
by a soul
yearning for silence
and nursing a craving
for stillness
This chest feels empty at times
the emptiness speak volumes
it’s the kind
that never ever lets up
it’s loudly echoed
by the heart's throb
as it obediently irrigates a life
a duty
that will not be deprived
This prison is a Safe house
entry is denied to most
it’s limited to a selected few
and that
after meticulous scrutiny
exits are but a fantasy
and thus glisten
with the appeal
of the unattainable
One fateful day
her soul
in a trance
teleported into an abyss
of quickened desire
where a glimmer
of unfounded hope
sparked a wisp of courage
Her soul rose
to the occasion
and offered its fears
for a sacramental sacrifice
as its terrors rose
to the surface, she
cradled it in her arms
to soothe it
with gentle crooning
Her song a mantra of rebirth
Of a buried seed
that in time sprouts
and shoots past its confines
When it finally matures,
it will sow it’s seed
to the wind
while its fluff takes to the skies
and beyond
its roots will nourish
the womb of the mother
Her lullaby purified the sacrifice
as darkness fell
upon the cage
turning it into a cozy
cocoon…
While her soul
hibernated
She
in patience
stood sentinel
armed with love
to keep the terrors at bay
as nature sows it’s wild oats
This heart is a Fortress
that serves her soul
while it mans the post
It will remain
on ice
Off and running sure-footed, fast, and furious. "Under the sun, there's nothing new", says the writer. "Renewal, restoration in the new year", says the reformer.
Years ago, however, a kindergartner made a very quick and decisive resolution. He was too young to know the meaning of a resolution but old enough to decide with resolute certainty that one sip of that cold liquid fire would be his last. Rescued by the TASTE of a very strong drink that his parents had in the friz. Escaped, no doubt, a life similar to his father who drank heavily on weekends. Saved by curiosity gone wild, he could not resist taking a drink of that wildfire. He never revisited whiskey or strong drink after that brief encounter.
Obsessions of the like never appealed to him after he kicked his alcohol at around age 5. Luck and will power had nothing to do with it, but the nasty power of whiskey stopped him. Who knows what might have, could have, would have been, but for that little boy's sneaky moment that sat him on the straight and narrow. A crisis experience by a curious little boy became unknown, unseen by others, and evermore top-secret information; even forgotten by him for many a year.
The resolutions of most I'm told, never last, and by year's end, very little ever comes to pass. I therefore usually resolve to never resolute but to do my best before God one day at a time. Oh, I'm not saying that resolutions are bad and unattainable, and I hope they serve you well. Noticed on a wall, a statement read, "Never accept 'No' until you've heard it twice".
This 5-year-old boy didn't need a second opinion nor to hear twice the word "No". He chose to be a teetotaler for the rest of his life. Sometimes it hurts to stick to resolutions, but if we believe in them deeply, we tend to follow through.
011420PoSoup
A whispered wish, longing soil deep,
Touch the stars; all are called to weep
Trillions of lifetimes, we shall strive,
To grasp the heavens, to truly thrive
But distance vast, and transparent the walls,
Keep us from picking up on unanswered calls
A cosmic dance, swaying fraternally
Wanting touch, past the moon, eternally
Across the Earth, our fingers yearn,
Galaxies, expanse whispered to burn
To feel the warmth, the light, the grace,
A longing dream, of time, not of space
Each infuriating moment, we implore,
To touch that something, even more
But dark does not fade, and silence reigns,
In our roots grasp, demanding hope sustains
Lifetimes spent, our stems and trunks weather beat,
For that unattainable, distant treat
Trillions of years, our worship solar,
To touch heaven's, bright star and toller
Young caring lover of another man,
Serenely take my vacant, sheltered hand,
And with the simple touch you give to him,
I beg you, let me feel your soul within
O Perfect mirror for his fragile heart,
Of which your deepest feelings form a part;
Please, let me glimpse my brittle own in you,
And give to me your flowing life anew
Lone peaceful refuge for his weary mind,
Refuse me not, and let me be entwined
Wherein your comfort calmly soothes away
The aching stresses of another day
Unyielding strength in taxing trials long,
For my ears also, sing your lifting song,
And light my darkened way in troubled times
With memories and promises sublime.
Wouldn't it be nice if the words we write
could be sent without electrical means
or anything else that sits on a shelf
like the pencils and paper we need?
Imagine a place where all our thoughts race
direct from our minds in thin air
from one's inner being the ideas we're seeing
In less than an instant, right there.
To neighbors and friends and those whom we spend
most of our time worth sharing,
giving and taking, creating and making
ideas that convey love and caring.
A "Poetry Express" might lead to success
of all our good wishes well sent
to just the right places and only those faces
who understand our deepest intent.
Like riders before on the old desert floor
carrying a bag full of mind-made treasures
eventually received by those who believed
in the power of something unmeasured.
Wouldn't it be nice if the words we write
could be sent without gadgets required
except for the means to tap into our dreams
and read every word desired?
As a poet of course, I've no other choice
but to wish for such unattainable ideas
while hoping for the best and giving thanks for the rest
and the direction in which to steer.