Long Unconcerned Poems
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Although some seem unconcerned,
Finding little fault or fight.
My fears are seeing exponents,
In the equation of wrong and right.
When opposing views are fundamental,
The roots of truth spread wide and far.
While stretching realities fabric, to a
Conforming figure, and liar.
The conflicts cover the landscape,
From the highest point, to all beneath.
And the battles are often bloody,
As those combatants are losing teeth.
Does our humanity find some clarity,
Within this fog of discontent?
Or does it fall victim to the smoke,
With no insurance to pay the rent?
In all my years before, these many
Worries were never reached.
Yet my hopes will seek survival,
As justice sanctions, those impeached.
The Wild One
I watched, as in a dream mist….
….after a day of rain, fog rolling in off the rocks of Lake Superior
Three large deer, nibbling moist leaves from sapling trees, unconcerned with my presence,
only 20’ away. Two were young bucks, both with fuzz-covered antlers, stopping occasionally
to rub them on branches, they must be itchy. The other, a splendid doe, larger than the
bucks, with golden brown skin, blinking her ears at me when I moved closer. This was their
forest, I was a guest, my people were busy fighting wars, scheming profits, and pillaging the
earth, while here, in reality, life was unchanged, the only sounds were warblers singing from
branch to branch, a couple ravens overhead, barking my location to any other forest
dwellers interested. On the forest floor, orchids bloomed, and an impressionistic collage of
wildflowers in every direction, the yellows: jewelweed, buttercups, bellwort, aster and
coneflower, the whites: yarrow, trillium, hemlock, queen anne’s lace and solomon’s seal, the
reds: bull thistle, Indian paintbrush, spotted coralroot and prairie blazing star, the purples:
wild geranium, spotted knapweed, shooting star and dameweed, and the wild one: me
…..the wild one
me
08/22/10
11:22am
Her winsome smile belied her secret essence
A temptress and siren
Given to saturnine quintessence
And I a man of placid and calm complexion
Became ever more umbrageous
With each stranger she offered affection
Ciara Cybelle chose to take her chances
Unconcerned by my mood
Continued her frenzied romances
She swooned at my charm
And laughed at my wit
And yet held to another man’s arm
Ciara Cybelle a nymph out of hell
Twisting a man
With her temptress spell
I had to make her understand
She simply had to see
I must be her only man
But Ciara Cybelle laughed instead
Eyes flashing fire
She brazenly said
The likes of me would never know
The deliciousness
Of the charms she would bestow
On other men she found fairer
Then in a rage
I struck in blind error
And carefree Ciara Cybelle
Lay shattered and still
At my feet where she fell
To the dark waters I fed
The alabaster body
Of Ciara Cybelle dead
Now benthic stillness of cimmerian depths
Disturbed by the pale lifeless limbs
Of Ciara Cybelle
Now tumescent and water pruned
The once sempiternal beauty
Forever ruined
As I watched the waves gently glide onto shore the other day
having rippled out from some unseen sailboat’s wake
I was reminded as a child how I loved to watch the circles form
once I tossed a stone into the middle of a lake.
I was mesmerized how out of one stone’s wake
perfect concentric circles would flow…
how each repeated circle began life small..
and how large each one would grow.
I loved watching those circles spread out across the lake…
in a silent rhythmic beat
until they found their way to shore…and rested at my feet.
Sometimes I would count the seconds…timing how long it would take
for a circle, once it began it’s journey…to find it’s way across the lake.
Now…as I remembered a time when the world seemed more innocent and calm…
I wondered…when did the stones we once so innocently tossed
turn into bullets and missiles and bombs.
And how is it our politicians….our lawmakers…our leaders…
after all these years still don’t understand….still do not know
the damage every bullet…every missile and every bomb will do…
and how far the circles of hatred they create will go.
How each bullet, missile and bomb they toss..
destroying buildings and killing people on their streets
will eventually have the ripple effect…and land back at their feet.
So while governments continue to toss their bullets,
their missiles
their bombs…
unaware, or worse, unconcerned with their ever-widening circles of hate…
I prefer to toss stones of love into my lake…stand on the shore
and see what kind of world those circles of love create.
We’ve left behind orphans, you and I,
a gaggle of memories like street urchins
left to starve and die in the
city of self-imposed amnesia.
We’ve staged our own deaths,
reciting happy obituaries of our former selves,
birth announcements of our new incarnations,
everyone duly notified of fissure and closure.
So that those troublesome orphans,
believing us dead,
homeless, unattended,
are left forever behind;
memories unremembered,
past disowned by present.
But they know where we are,
and they come,
knock on the doors behind which
we’re safely ensconced in new lives.
We let them knock,
cringing and waiting
with furtive glances
from behind closed curtains
until they finally recede into the night.
They are unconcerned, these little orphans.
The camouflage of our reinvented selves
don’t hide us.
They will be back.
the imagery is there
story line as blah as wallpaper paste
wallpaper paste that has dripped on the floor
been stepped on by a size nine Nike tennis shoe
oozing off the bottom of it now
I dive in for another peek
there must be more
the protagonist has to be a hero or a villain
we have his name, colors and attitudes
nothing stands out;
I, the reader, do not know whether to cheer or loathe him
the feelings that prance all over most stories are dormant.
lying in an old brown suitcase in my mind’s attic
uncaring, unconcerned, unmoved by this excuse for a tale
I stop reading
not wanting to waste
one more drop of time
caught a glimmer of a glimpse of an old man
I felt lucky that it was daylight
Dismissed it as fertile imagination
an hour later I heard a giggle
a tiny voice, a child’s voice, in my head
easily ignored at breakfast when I turned up my own voice
there were footsteps coming toward the kitchen
the door never swings open
I waited, anticipating my neighbor. Called out. No answer
I am unconcerned, my fantasy world is true
prancing around, writing poems unbeknownst to me,
and often creating narratives while I slumber
I have to sleep with a night light now
for the giggles, whispers and footsteps
are not as easy to ignore in the dark
the evenings are the worst
when I hear my name being called
and I live alone
Enchanted by your voice, I almost fell asleep,
in a field full of sunflowers, dreaming reality could mirror dreams.
I followed you so far, unconcerned by the fatigue,
walking through danger just to keep my place beside you.
Loved you so hard, when I saw you I missed a beat,
rational as I am, I was startled that I lost my breath.
I carried it to wake with you beside me,
wondering at night if an angel could be disguised.
Hearing you, I learned that dreams could also become scary.
Seeing you near taught me vigilance.
Loving you moved me across worlds — but I had traveled far enough.
Carrying it this long, I saw our colors — bold and subtle — filling the canvas.
Now.
My ears can listen from afar, but I cannot hear you.
My legs could cross layers of hell, but not to reach you.
My heart now beats fast as falling leaves, but not seeing you pass by.
I still carry it — but it no longer shines the same.
I wish to live with true abandon
experiencing things more at random
Just like the first man Adam
drinking clean water
living with nature in tandem
Garden freedom body exposed
Unconcerned with cars or clothes
Easy does it anything goes
Touch the sky
feel the sand between my toes
A happy sort of ecstatic
The natural life no plastic
My days more elastic
I could be a true original
instead of a conservative classic
For me no rules to live by
No one to ask me how and why
I could give anything a try
No fear to hold me back
Watch and see this old guy fly!
Written specifically for Brenda Chiri's Abandon Poetry contest
July 16, 2018
In a province exploited
by prejudiced seasons,
a minority ebony rose
is taunted by prominent
i v o r y l i l i e s.
Biased blossoms ridiculing
tones of its charcoal petals,
yet blooming in the same
quilt of soil as each other.
Soothing raindrops
never discriminate though,
as scents of petrichor
fuse with floret elegance,
nor does the sun only shine
for the privileged,
as all flora sunbathes in
the passions of its rays,
refreshed by the same
migrating gentle breeze.
Scarlet beetles
munch upon lily leaves,
whilst aphids suck
upon rose sepals.
Creepy crawlies
unconcerned with
a p p e a r a n c e,
massacre and spread
like an epidemic.
Until the arrival of
feathered immigrants,
who feast upon an
assortment of morsels.
In any garden,
birds care not for
whom they sing.
They defecate on all flowers,
aware all will wilt eventually.
Winter frost oppresses
regardless of culture,
so birds flee.
But, when roses crumble,
they re-emerge
fresher and brighter,
as their red thorns remain
protecting their right
to flourish freely under
fresh blue skies..
F O R E V E R