Long Unimaginably Poems
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The whole truth
and nothing but the fu(king truth
That laws, and math, only help solve
local temporary problems,
All of which fall way short
on the infinite needs scale
were we rely on estimates, theories,
and other manmade truths
Still here we are,
alone on a goldilocks planet
All 8 billion of us milling around,
living our lives
guaranteed nothing
other than this moment
and whatever came before
To think otherwise
would be presumptuously human
As for choice is there really any
other than try feed ourselves
and sate the instinct to survive and thrive
We are a civilisation built on
disparate societal values and creeds
Each day is an imperceptible handover
from one generation to the next,
with no guarantee they’ll do a better job
But the real problem is not truth,
It’s why!
Why anything at all,
Why life
Why the fu(k am I asking these questions
I’m apostate, No!
I have little faith, No!
I am honest, No!
A nihilist, No
It’s because I have a sentient,
curious, unapologetic mind
that compels me to ask why!
Sometimes I think
i’d be better off a sponge
floating in crystal clear turquoise balmy oceans
Soaking up oblivious unintelligible surroundings
Indifferent to mortality and the universe,
popping off a few buds every once in a while,
or whatever sponges
brainlessly do to further their species
Such basic life is so very tempting
but just doesn’t sit right
Never to experience love
however fleeting,
Never to endure pain
However crushing,
Never to feel like throwing in the towel,
Even if just to mop blood
off the floor like a sponge
See, I’ve had moments
unimaginably beautiful,
Alongside unconscionably awful ones,
Moments so real
they can’t have been synthesised
by any stretch of any imagination
I believe a God or the universe
created me as a vessel of interpretation
to perceive itself
from my unique perspective
Well not unique per se,
more a personalised handicapped view
I am nothing and everything
in the grand scheme of things
No more! No less!
One that uses swear words
language you may not like,
yet clearly understand
The weirdest part is not the feeling
I’ve written this fu(ked up poem
in previous carnations
It’s my swearing
just seems to be getting worse
By
David Kavanagh
This revolutionary fella followed by
Adams family patriarch,giving rise
twin heir (plain lee gifted "Renaissance
Man") Jeff force'n without hemming
and hawing, subsequently conceding
nexus (nor horse drawn Lexus) of Colonial
power to Madison, thence Monroe
buttoned up as suitable candidate after
which younger Adams elected.
Thirty four followed Jackson's club
trumpeting (some Obama nib bully)
bushwhacking their way predicated
on faulty Algorithm, charming
charismatically with hint of Clint
like glint in eyes, blinding populace,
sans ray gun (Reagan), Car Tour ring
with peanut gallery in tow, affording
(unpopularly pardoning unfashionably),
a Jerry rigged nixed son, followed
by John's son tainted by stain of Vietnam,
but with said Southeast Asian debacle,
one ken heady (sporting thick styled hair)
inherited an internecine conflict, essentially
precipitated, when Eisenhower hardened
political stance against any allies of the
Soviet Union, (sans The Viet Cong), and
pledged his firm support to Diem
and South Vietnam.
Now with preceding administration, one
harried true man unleashed advent of atomic
spectra upon Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, this
purported preemptive measure scary ruse
felt to thwart exaggerated Japanese government
threat (military intelligence) scheming to
wreak untold havoc upon American troops
within the Pacific theater of World War II.
The former horrific decision controversial,
then and to this day Hoover expert historian,
diverge, asper corroborating the necessity
to usher in the Cold War, yet majority foreign
policy wonks might grudgingly attest that
said thirty first commander in chief did maintain
a Cool Edge throughout onset when doomsday
clock began countdown to Armageddon,
an unimaginably blaring, deafening, earsplitting...
cacophony distant rumbles heard, nonetheless,
no Hard dinning ghoulish nightmare (potentially
obliterating all life on planet Earth) haunted
Wilson, nor Taft, only gunboat diplomacy
mere child's play exhorted, less catastrophic
comparison, when Teddy Roosevelt wielded
"big stick schtick" namesake corollary to the
Monroe Doctrine in 1904...ad nauseum.
THE GARDEN OF LOVE AND GUILT
Judas, was destined to be the traitor to betray our Saviour,
Paid 30 pieces silver for him to perform guilty behavior
Satan had entered this man who told the authorities,
To follow Our Saviour, and the one he kissed
Among the majorities,
Would be Jesus, the innocent son of God, that they should arrest,
And so it took place, then Jesus was tried and
Convicted, this blessed
Holy man sent by God, convicted of being treacherous
And claiming to be King of the Jews for which he was
Deemed to be dangerous,
He was to be crucified, as a common criminal!
A new era for many was about to take place in Biblical
History – Jesus had to carry his own cross through the streets
Of Jerusalem, through to the Hill of Calvary, where he meets
And is crucified between two thieves,
He suffered unimaginably on that stark wooden cross, he heaves
His body one last time, His last words
Heard from this Son of Man, Our Lord
Were, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit”.
And then he died,
And Mary his mother cried!
Jesus thus took upon him the sins of humanity,
And so began the New Testament and Christianity.
The End is How it Ends
The end is how it ends and if it doesn’t we haven’t gotten there yet
As I sit here and the window open and the church bells toll
It’s a reminder that your spirit is lingering and with me
I have watched your torment as we lowered the casket of your first born son
I saw the rolling of your eyes as I once again started over to recapture recovery
The disappointment like an old photo of a woman standing in a disaster one tear transported down your cheek
Disaster of a tornado brought about by my lack of integrity and honor
I watched you and Pop slowly die and I was thinking is this my doing?
But finding Jesus and going everyday to the nursing home to feed you both
Until Pop left us after the quadruple by-pass. And his wonderful smile
One day he said to me,”out of all my friends,family and children! I can’t believe it’s you here !!
I felt honored that Jesus saved me as I read the second reading in state prison.
We must rejoice in our suffering! How do I rejoice in such a terrible life and being a loser. Then it says ,” because suffering brings endurance. And I said I have endured no matter what’s happened both to me, Pop and Mommy. And then it says endurance brings us Character! Wow this is what I have always wanted. To respect myself! Look in the mirror knowing I’m doing it all the right way. And character brings hope. Hope is what’s driven me all my life and my mother always gave me hope. Even in her sadness, she always offered me hope as did Jesus when I opened my eyes to see.
And I see you dead on that table. All that’s left of you and wonder are you watching me still?
The next morning as I’m drinking coffee I do my duty in the bathroom and wash my hands…
As I gaze into the mirror I see your beautiful eyes looking wonderingly at me and I see the shape of your beautiful face looking at me!!!
I realize I carry you with me and your blood that passes back and forth unimaginably and am proud of who you created!
The end is how it ends
For Vida ( my Mother)November 16 ,1940 -March 23,2025
When city life morphs
into a cacophony of noises;
splintered sounds levy a toll.
And anxiety overshadows my reality;
till I'm brought to the edge of tears,
and need to get away from it all.
So, I inevitably turn
to Nature's serene stillness;
to recharge my spirit.
I'm a people person,
but, at times,
I want to be left alone
with my thoughts;
listening to the mountains speak
in muted sounds of silence.
Leaving my stress behind;
I seek the isolation of Nature's wilderness,
and go tenting;
in an unimaginably peaceful place
of quietude, beauty, and solitude.
And there, at night, the stars light up the sky,
bathing me in celestial light,
making me feel insignificant:
and yet, fundamentally connected, somehow.
Life used to be so simple when Earth was the hub
in a Universe of twinkling stars that revolved around us.
The moon rose, the stars circled, the seasons came and went.
People were born, lived three-score years and ten,
Then died and were buried, remembered with legacies.
But now we're told Earth is a speck of dust
One of nine planets in our solar system circling a mediocre star, our Sun,
which is one tiny sand grain on an endless beach of stars in the Milky Way,
which is one of billions of galaxies in the vast, endless space of the Universe
stretching unimaginably way out there, beyond eternity and comprehension.
Humans have strode the earth for 200,000 years of so,
Life has been here for 3.9 billion years,
The Big Bang, that conceived the Universe, occurred 13.8 billion years ago.
So human existence is a tiny pico-second in the lifetime of the universe.
So how does it help to know humans are a mere skerrick in time and space,
In a universe so old and vast it belies comprehension,
how does knowing this help in any way?
Thinking myself unborn
I can’t help
Wondering what the
State of non-being
Must be like
If opposites attract
And that’s a
Naturally occurring fact
Then perhaps it
Stands to reason
Darkness is out
Of season when
Light comes pouring
In like sweet
Summer shower rains
But not if
Existence doesn’t matter
And all is
Nothing more important
Than the unborn
Dreams of many
Not yet shattered
Such as the
Un-poetic poetry posing
Like masquerading mannequins
In storefront windows
And songs unsung
By the old
Masters who were
Never allowed to
Create something new
Because they too
Were left unborn
And every breath
They never breathed
Is still waiting
Patiently for them
In the airy
Skies where birds
Nest and fly
And the leaves
Bend and bow
Knowing strangely somehow
They’re not alone
And when fall
Comes calling them
Back once more
To the ground
Whence they came
They never complain
No need to
Explain to them
The reason for
Their own mortal
Worth which is
Nothing less than
Their miraculous living
Dying and gratifying
Moment of pure
Unimaginably timeless un-birth.
I was born of a singularity –
A 14 billion year-old silent explosion,
Minuscule yet massive;
Unimaginably dense
I somehow expanded –
An infinite void,
Spawning colorful clouds
Of cosmic gas and dust
I was trillions of blinding stars
Collapsing and exploding,
Raining elemental sparks
Across the great expanse
I suddenly became stable,
Pressed by invisible forces;
Molten from trembling plates;
Cooled and carved by moving ice
I was synthesized in the oceans –
A hopeful spiraling helix,
Single celled and brainless,
Growing ever more complex
I was a bipedal stranger,
Learning of tools and fire;
I hunted and fished the earth,
Uttering the first of human sounds
I am the universe in deep contemplation;
I am consciousness sprung from the inanimate;
I am carbon-based collection of stardust,
United with myself in the vastness of space.
Calling am I to you
Timeless and undefinable
Rarely felt soothing presence
Endlessly awaiting my need of you
Let me please summon at once
All that may be virtuous in me
Secretly dispersed within
Multiple layers of Being
And with it the wit and thrive
Such task demands
Not afraid am I to admit
No one beyond the deepest depth
Is indispensable except for you
Given the threads pulling life
Are not only scarcely visible
But are unimaginably long
I trust in you to help me confront
This heart already deeply carved
With a pernicious capricious resistance
To permanently feel what is right
For doomed will I be
Letting this love for appearances
Keep guiding me day and night
Wrapped in a secret day of thoughts, I pondered,
If I should overturn my soul, to wear it on my face as a garment.
Would it have unfolded with stitch and patch apparent,
Or perhaps its embodiment would be unimaginably elemental?
I envision it otherwise, beyond breaks and wounds,
I close my eyes and there appears a field of spring in flights and blooms.
An infinity of dandelions, fallen stars in the grass budding with hopes,
Dominated in the center by a tree, stately in its leaf-whisked dance.
Ah, in every soul hides a tree, progenitor of life's breath,
And mine now crowns itself in spring's blossoms, in white and pink, in festive attire.
It struggles between being and seeming, between blooming and invading the depths of being.
My field, laid before closed eyes, is not merely a stretch,
It is a heart's atlas full of elevations and depths, where you too have built.
Delicate joys, salted sorrows, all there inscribed, raise or fall,
With stubs that start stories and stones rounded by time, like destinies.
And then, stillness, a canvas of peace sewn with clouds sweet as cotton candy,
The scent, the unseen hero, invades my senses stealthily, blooming all my springs.
My spring does not go silent to the rhythm of the seasons, no,
It chains the hours, the days, the years, an endless act of presence.
It might stretch over a lifetime, or perhaps, even beyond death.
And while the slow days heat up in pink dusks and in light,
I carry in my mind an eternal, unfading spring,
The tree in my soul, unchanged in its brilliance, a perpetual "now".