Long Uncoiled Poems
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In loving memory of a legend deeply missed
Taken 2 soon which gets me pi##ed
The best musician in lifes childhood
Highly misunderstood by ignorant do goods
Wrongly accused of so many crimes
Punished for speakin up so many times
The envy of so many wannabes
My inspiration to write with ease
I grew up with your music and screen shows
Feels like I knew you well although
We never met it frustrates me so
That I cannot tell you your my hero
I honestly think biggee was a true friend
And he had nothing 2 do with your first assassination atempt
But puffy on the other hand is sly
And I think he'd do anythin 2 get by
So many rumours that you didn't die
But I know different and I'll explain why
On that fateful september night in vegas
You seen your shooter as he passed
And you wouldn't go and hide away my friend
You'd write a song explaining revenge
No-one could silence the legend of 2pac
The only way in life is 2 hit back
Suge was the problem in the wars
A selfish manipulator lower than the floor
Should have left with dre when you had the chance
You could still be here making everyone dance
I think the rivalry was between suge and puff
You and biggee was dragged into that fuss
It was puffy that instigated that vegas night
The target suge was in the sights
You should have stayed with iron mike
That was the chance 2 put everything right
Biggee should have laid low for a while
Or until suge was put in jail
Coz when he set foot on westside soil
Suge's revenge plan uncoiled
A small handful of artist started an epic genre called rap
Most influential is the 1 and only 2pac
We miss you makaveli the don
In your music you live on
Redemption
She slowly uncoiled her gray streaked hair that fell to her waist. She removed her
spectacles to see more clearly the windswept icy snow clinging to the branches. A
pause, settling something deep within; then her gaze shifted to me.
I reached out, but found my reach was frozen, too stiff to touch her. For if I touched
her, the burden we shared would lapse and slide away, slinking off to be buried,
uncoiled under the ground.
A pinched, dour expression settled her features into a mask that would never
betray the inner darkness which created a shadow of an existence. A mask that I
must wear as well, to ward off the hopeless life within me, growing every moment of
the day, days upon days retreating into the too long nights, hopeless to survive in
the world we have created, together as “want” and “ruthlessness”.
“I carry no idolatries, no false hope.” A breath are these words as I receive them,
knowing they are too bold to give forth a safe humility.
The nurse, starched clothing as stiff as her countenance, paused, a look of
condemnation briefly shadowing her face, the sun passing in and out of the clouds.
She could not help herself. No matter the role we are chosen to play in this world,
we are not free of a deeply flawed human nature, ice softening dangerously on a
winter’s pond. I turned away.
I came to hours later, the rejected life in me gone, a searing through flesh never
immune to a free will taunting, tearing the fabric of life so fragile. I would not cling. A
passing briefly witnessed, a single brown leaf blown by the window in the darkened
room where we sit for tea, hopes slowly elapsing like the sea waters
receding.
Tomorrow we can only envision; today we must let go of a part of us we will never
again possess. A coursing through the veins of life no more, we push, and push, an
existence wishing to sink into the yawning chasm of what is unknown and coming
for us.
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.
As I walked through a meadow singing a song,
I heard a hissing voice say, "Hello. Come along."
It came from beneath a patch of thorny weeds,
whispered, "Are you one of those good seeds?"
I feared the snake would strike from coiled position,
but it seemed to be waiting for my admission.
There was a fiery light burning in its beady eyes,
as distant thunder rumbled in graying skies.
I dared not let the reptile know the fear I felt within
so, I answered the snake, with gold glistening skin.
"I don't think of myself as a righteous good seed.
but I do my best to perform many a helpful deed."
"What of you, snake? What is it that you like to do?
Tell me why many people are always afraid of you."
He flicked his tongue to catch the scent of me,
took some time before replying, then he did decree:
"Snakes like me have always been misunderstood."
Then he rose up higher and the cobra fanned his hood.
"We're called "Lords of Evil," but we're merely snakes.
Some of us are poisonous, but for goodness sakes,
many of us do good things on the land of Mother Earth.
Shouldn't that mean that we have a measure of worth?"
He uncoiled and slithered under an apple tree's shade.
I should've walked away, but couldn't, so I stayed.
My mind was overflowing with things I wanted to query.
He beckoned me to come nearer, but I remained wary.
"Do not fear me for I'll not sink my fangs in you, child.
I'm sick and tired of snakes being slandered and reviled.
We're thought of as devils and demons from Satan's lair,
beheaded and killed for no reason, and that's not fair."
I listened to its complaints and with him I had to agree.
Snakes always get a bad rap. Not all of them are beastly.
Suddenly, he stopped talking, and I thought he was asleep
until he opened one eye, asking if his secret I would keep.
"I won't tell anyone about the conversation we just had,
and promise to spread the word that not all snakes are bad."
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
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.
I am being told to let go
By almost everyone I know
Release, let it out, let it be
Plunge into passivity
While I howl to bitter beauty
My bruises bloom a thorny tree
Guarding roses of agony
My pain is mine, it belongs to me
This 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 this, for I know its worth,
even if their unsolicited, unwarranted, intrusive,
Questioning and questionable, inconclusive
Unadvised advisors do not grant it girth
It is in my pain I find
What I wish most
Where rage of kindness blinds
My grieving ghosts.
5/20/18
From outfield judging eyes await your plight,
though sweat and stupor feign to your ruin.
Now pull up your trousers, cinch your belt tight...
glaring down from mound, pitch straight and proven.
Blurred ball unleashed, pitcher's swift arm uncoiled...
tho' bat be av'rage, the batter may not.
Cauldron-like blood boiled, fever'd swing loyal,
now away to skies, all eyes on prized swat.
Faithfully she watched from merciful stands,
clouds roll away from fancy, fated rush.
His chance to meet life, alone in her hands,
though startled by a bat's powerful crush.
Will you strike true in life's bewilder'g plan,
carried on shoulders of heavenly fans?
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.
There are pearly white flowers
that delicately sway
mimicking tiny dancing butterflies
within the lacy shrubs sector
breeze blown away
blooms of heaven-sent nectar
an attraction, an invitation
A meadow brown butterfly swarms to
its empowering rich white petals
resting, buckled, uncoiled tongue, sucking
scaled wings clasped, it settles
stupefied by scents, it feeds
bewildered by sugary sucrose
ideal prey for a spider’s capture
in its ampullate silk orb web
sticky droplets woven to ensnare
Asclepias incarnata, magnets for pollinators
Ice-ballet swamp milkweeds
amongst igneous rocks banding from foliation
rocks formed from cooled magma
gravy tones, an obsidian correlation
where white flowers string
In a momentums gain,
a brown butterfly takes wing