Long Uncoiled Poems
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Long winter nights left me in deep despair,
aroused before the dawn so many times,
in concert with the mantel clock whose chimes
informed and mocked, knowing that I was there.
Consciousness had become too hard to bear,
walls of pain with no lesser ones to climb,
each hour of sleep too short, each one sublime,
my threshold reached, sought refuge in a chair.
The bedspring in the mattress spear-like stood
uncoiled unlike the ranks in which it lay
a twisted Angel sent to do no good
to torture and torment me, and it would
I ordered a new mattress the next day
three months ago missus said that I should.
For contest 'Italian/Petrachan sonnet- Spring', sponsor Craig Cornish
March 14th 2018
The dry stem of a lonesome vine of vivacity,
now painfully curled, rooted frozen,
entwining the desiccated verdant veins,
sways chilled in the winter wind of desolation.
The sleeping passion of exuberance,
painting a picture of comatose entity,
impresses none, finds no frame, droops down uncoiled.
Dormant emotions flicker like candle flame in freezing gale,
the crumpled vine suffers cold distress, pain unexpressed.
The original emerald lattice morphs mystically into
a mirror of veracity with ingrained sheen of actuality,
reflecting the real rendering of silhouetted latent essence,
rinsed with the suppressed hues
of distinctive spectral disposition it embodied once.
Metamorphosis creates the transient design,
an alien in its own transformed domain,
completes the contrasting paradigm
of the compulsive shape shift,
waiting for the touch of spring.
Ceasing vision as a kiss viewing blurred;
I'm blinking fluttering beliefs sentiments;
So a precured glimpse visual perceptions;
~
Grays whites viewed bombarded glimpse of dim mist;
In the drought bronze misted blinded heated dulls;
Now seeing dawns slanted luminosity blanket lulls;
~
Crying blinded drawn breath respired uncoiled;
Blinking sighted hot burnt ambers hazed lonely summer days;
a droughting dust storm hot breath atmosphere kissed at bay;
~
Face is hot not as warm;
Vision block not blurred;
I'm panting caught up in, This dried summer's windstorm;
~
8/2/21~ 2021©
For Imagism Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Circling twilight, honed by rasps of one lone star,
fireflies weave their magic through the last of the golden haze
A pensive cricket hums, uncoiled from the thick green maze
to circle upwards, and around the rim of declining sun
Fireflies weave their magic through the last of the golden haze
Of this darkening of earth, there are bright partakers
to circle upwards, and around the rim of a declining sun
as birdsongs of the summer day are put to rest
Of this darkening of earth, there are bright partakers
A pensive cricket hums uncoiled from the thick green maze
As birdsongs of the summer day are put to rest,
circling twilight, honed by rasps of one lone star
________________________________________________________________
Inspired By Andrea's Contest: "One in Three--Write Beautifully"
7/31/13
I am being told to let go
By almost everyone I know
Release, let it out, let it be
Plunge into passivity
While I cling to bitter beauty
My bruises bloom a thorny tree
Guarding roses of agony
This pain is mine, it belongs to me
My torment is my blood, it breathes
with every breath, it beats with my heartbeats
Within my tears, it weeps
It shrieks, uncoiled, beneath my skin
Where the sin of suffering begins
It is my fertile fury, my hellish choir
My savage soul, my cathartic fire
It is large and lush and livid
Conquering and vivid
It is too precious, too valuable, to trade away or wallow
in trinkets, or flimsy platitudes, or empty cliches, or hollow
promises of unfulfilling fortresses to follow
Their learned words I dare spurn
For to recover, I must burn
So I will keep it, for I know its worth,
even if their unsolicited, unwarranted, intrusive,
Questioning and questionable, inconclusive
Unadvised advisors do not grant it girth
It is here I find
What I want most
Where rage of kindness blinds
My grieving ghosts.
06/06/20
Entered in 'N/A Rerun 7'
1st Place
PROLOGUE
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
APOLOGUE
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A beaver bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled
EPILOGUE
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
The path has already been layed down
albeit with multilayered shadows
layed down and lit
by previous
seekers of truth
their imagination intertwined with
sustainance
providing fodder for their souls
these seekers of truth
uncoiled their tentacles of knowledge longing
bringing to their open mouths
images that are written
molten words that
are tasted to digest
and senses that are felt to experience
we be brave seekers of truth
you and I
although sometimes lost in the forebearance of our mothers and fathers
we still persue ourselves within one another
throughout paths in how we are being as we
touch reality
and confirm illusion
while uncovering the reasons to be.
A slow red sun cut through the soft gray sky,
To warm my eyes with layered painted light.
Birds shadows glide on the wind's goodbye.
Their fragile wings carry them from the night.
Day's end changes coats as night creatures sing,
To bring harmonies to the ear's delight.
Night's dim stars appear like an uncoiled string.
The dark cloth of time envelops twilight,
To end the sunlight's quiet turning spool,
As I watch in awe of this changing scene,
I find my silent presence minuscule,
Only my whispered thanks will intervene.
This moonlit cathedral with rising face,
Has ended this day, it has been replaced.
written 12/4/14
Awakened from an afternoon nap, I arose
and peeped out through the veranda window.
My weary eyes suddenly burst wide open in utter
amazement at what was being canvassed before them.
There, sitting on the grass with folded legs was
this cute little hued girl staring into the hedges.
A more focused look revealed another little black
one sitting in familiar pose, staring right back at her.
Both seemed to be just sitting there staring at each other
with tongues sticking out and swerving around their mouths.
Quietly and motionless, I stood there watching them for what
seemed to have been hours but was only for just a few minutes.
Once I clearly realized who the other character was, my heart began
loudly beating like a roaring train. Then, as a cloud passed across the sun,
the other character gently uncoiled, waged its tail, and slowly crawled
off; and turning towards me, the child waved and asked me if all was ok.
With flaming pen
The beast inside me scratches to remove,
Fingers pulsing with my heartbeat growing
What will prove
To quit and quiet or sparkle softly,
In the distant night.
What would it prove to cater to
Such shallowness as one’s delight.
When beasts burst forth exploring every pore.
Scattered scallions
Relinquish the air to moan.
Even the box
Is outside the box
At Heaven’s gate deluxe;
To remove the pitied eye and stand forth naked.
I do hate, I am human, After all.
Who was it again that witnessed the fall?
Well, we all sag weary against the ropes
When each rose uncoiled clings,
The jaded blackbird sings, and
Pie-in-the-sky magpies flap their useless wings.
Look in the mirror at the naked scourge behind you.
Listen to the pounding of the drums of your doom.
There isn’t any room.
Not the slightest wiggling inch
Of breath or sound or excluded pinch;
When we shout Holy Hell,
Holy Haunted Hell, After all.
The messenger in all of us
That wakens a sleeping sickness of liquid pus,
Of bruised and startled semen-egg to mark its choice.
Heavenly Father where the hell is your voice?
Aloud, Aloud, After all.
Meekness protruding from some dark and brooding
Corner of misunderstanding.
Comes the Death; Comes the Light;
Comes the Commanding Voice.
Return once more to the core of all confusion.
Take back the shelter and reign in the smelter
Of Christ’s own blend of defiance.
Be in Death or Life or Hell
On Faith be our reliance.
And in the end of all, after alls,
We find yet another broken appliance.