Long Unresponsive Poems
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A two year old represents herself. Is this a court of law?
"What is your name?" (pronunciation's magisterial)
She doesn't move, she doesn't cry, no tremble in her jaw
There in her seat, she swings her feet... unresponsive is the rule
It's as though she doesn't understand what's going on around her
Like this was some cruel trickery intended to confound her
What's in a name? Is this a game? Who's making up these rules?
Representation, reprehensible from those who've staked their claim
And ev'rything that's done here's done as though it's "In Your Name"
The caterpillar crawls along the leaf from egg to stalk
A journey just the start of a new leaf along this walk
Black and yellow segments leaving no track neath its feet
Three thousand miles before this odyssey will be complete
A migrant moving north to south when it has gained its wings
Generations moving north on milk for queens and kings
The Caterpillar crawls down from the lowboy on the ramps
Each track will leave a track as all will fall before its tramps
And the wall these tracks are making they are making "In Your Name"
The bombs rain down on desert that's been fought over for years
Since the time of Abraham it's served as field for battle
The precious rain that's fallen here has come from children's tears
The babbling brook, from tower it took from Babylon it's prattle
Dividing tongues and tribes and sons and daughters from their parents
Along the lines and signs and tongues as language often suffers
The little children to false kings and prophets here among us
To trudge across the sands of time, ground down through ill fame
And the wall that's built between us, is building... "In Your Name"
IT WAS DECEMBER 23RD 2003 LIVING IN FORT MYERS FLORIDA MY POEM WAS AWARDED PRESTIGIOUS EDITORS CHOICE AWARD BECAUSE IT DISPLAYS A UNIQUE PERSPECTIVE AND ORIGINAL CREATIVITY WHATS AMAZING IS THIS WAS 3 MONTHS AFTER MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY THIS POEM CONTINUED TO RECIEVE THIS AWARD AFTER RELOCATING NORTH DUE TO FOUR HURRICANES CHARLIE LISA GENE HUGO I CONTINUE WRITING OF COURSE AS PUBLISH TODAY OFFERED TO PAY ME TO PUBLISH MY ANTHOLOGY THIS POEM THE WRATH CONTINUED TO CAPTURE READERS ALSO IN 2006 IT'S TRULY AMAZING FIGHT FLIGHT MODE FIGHTING FOR MY BRAIN AND JUST LIKE HARRIET TUBMAN CONTINUED TO LEAD INJURED ILL PERSONS OUT OF SLAVERY I THINK OF VIRGINIA WOLFE WRITING DURING HER NERVOUS BREAKDOWNS BOUTS OF DEPRESSION THE BEAUTIFUL MINDS OF MYSTERY DURING SEVERE ILLNESS WE I WAS IN MY COMA I COULD OOEN MY EYES BUT POEMS CAME ACROSS MY MIND ONCE I AWAKENED I WAS ABLE TO PUT PEN TO PAGE DESCRIBING WHAT OCCURED WHILE I WAS FAST ASLEEP UNRESPONSIVE GOD BLESS NASA RADIOLOGY IN NAPLES FLORIDA AND GOD BLESS THE POET THAT LIVES AND CONTINUES TO WRITE AMONG US
THE WRATH WAS WRITTEN BY
YOLANDA NICHOLSEN 2003 I RECIEVED
AWARDS DECEMBER 23RD 2003 RIGHT
BEFORE CHRISTMAS DOWN THE STREET
FROM THOMAS EDISON HOME WHERE
ROCKEFELLER FORD AND EDISON STATUE
SITS FORT MYERS FLORIDA
-Nous In Malibu-
What is the most invaluable thing in existence and yet inherently toxic to hold? Knowledge. The more you have, the more you desire. As it is obtained, the only refuge is acquiring more of it…Until infinity is achieved and grasped. But that day never dawns.
That is the curse of mortality, infinity is upheld. But, unresponsive through said foundation. It can only be passed down through each generation, never truly wrung out…Like a soaked sponge submerged, filling volumes in thy mind.
We are slaves to the unknown. Privy not. In the understanding of being ants in a mound; honored by pity. The serpent sheds its skin through the clay body, only to lose infinity…By being graced unto infinite disintegration.
The cycle of life, is not in favor to the shattered vase of a star. And yet, it is. For the star is graced with the notion of what it’s all suppose to be about. Living amongst the clouds above, as well as being constantly reminded of the achievements and blasphemies below.
The ultimate punishment. To be bestowed, time after time with slow, gradual knowledge. Then, losing it all and re-emerging in the pits once more. The key, is to not think about it so much. Yet, the burden is to be consumed with the want to know. The need to know. Knowledge. Nous. It can be as relentless as a noose.
Enter my dream smiling, never pausing to ponder why
Whispering gently to me, exploring the phrases I write
Listening to cadence of heart composing ardent reply
Questions linger unanswered poking pain in teary eye
Answers blunder aimlessly unresponsive to life's plight
Enter my dream smiling, never pausing to ponder why
I'll bring you comfort, discerning sigh, hearing your cry
Witness the rhythm of passion scintillating in my sight
Listening to cadence of heart composing ardent reply
Not easy to share my feelings when love has yet to try
Come prepared to lose yourself wandering in my night
Enter my dream smiling, never pausing to ponder why
Decipher romantic call, reveling in joy, lifting you high
Hold my affection, embracing love, to shed your fright
Listening to cadence of heart composing ardent reply
Having discerned text of minds you have seen the light
Surrender to sensual feelings , snuggling love just right
Enter my dream smiling, never pausing to ponder why
Listening to cadence of heart composing ardent reply
May 29, 2018
Placed first in early January 2019 contest by Brian Strand
We always eulogize a child on his birth
We also eulogize a person on his death
On both occasions he is unable to appreciate the praise
At birth he is unable to understand the words
At death his ears are unresponsive to the sound
Why do we always say good things on these occasions?
Must we confine our eulogy only to these occasions?
A child doesn’t understand our words at the time of his birth
So it doesn’t matter whatever our words may sound
The logic isn’t the same for a person on his death
We have an innate fear that his spirit is hearing our words
We wish to impress the spirit by using words of praise
Why should we impress the spirit with words of praise?
There is a belief that the spirit will leave after such occasions
Some believe that the spirits are not influenced by words
Our fate after death depends on all our deeds after birth
All good deeds will be rewarded by the Creator after death
Fate is not decided on words irrespective of how it may sound
It is impossible to infer true feelings from how the words sound
We often pretend to please others by telling words of praise
These pretensions are useless when hearing ability ceases on death
But may be fruitful when spoken to others on different occasions
It is ineffective when the sense of hearing is undeveloped at birth
The generation of feelings depends upon how we express the words
Human relations depend on how we express our feelings in words.
Expressions, conveying different feelings, are said in a varying sound
The effectiveness is lost when conveyed to a child at birth
Damaged human relations can be repaired through words of praise
The appropriate expressions must be chosen to suit the occasion
Feelings and expressions must amalgamate in the occasion of death
One of the most solemn occasions in life is that of death
While expressing feelings we carefully select the words
The choice of words matches the vibes of the occasions
The speeches are characterized by a particular sound
On such occasions we forget our true feelings and praise
Ebullient feelings are aroused on the occasion of birth
The strength of a relationship is expressed by the identity of the sound
The effectiveness of the expressions rest on the choice of words
Alas! The only expressions a child has are cries at birth
So Dog Gone Tired Today...
May 20th, 2021
Like a fly without his/her buzz
even popping a guarana (caffeine) does
not shake the feeling
like brain covered with fuzz
no matter how hard I try eyelids claps
shut nor how many hours of sleep elapse
offers nary reprieve folds
welded tightly shut
feel like they weigh
much as a ton mud covered flaps,
thus thought to summon
meager energy reserves perhaps
generating poetic lines
interrupted by taking constant naps
but no matter eyelids
weigh heavy as a ton steel traps
narcolepsy not ruled out since
tired body struggles as if gasping for air,
yet such fatigued state uncommon for me,
though bothersome to grin and bear
this bout of sleepiness, where this
white knight chess sleeps
trouble free aye declare
quality deep rapid eye
movement marked noticed
since medication taken
to treat debilitating anxiety e'er
concomitant panic attacks, where psyche
got rent asunder send
ding this atheist to hell
episodes pained me
forked flaming tongues flare
ling, immobilizing, paralyzing
and stinging entire body,
hence methinks primary cerebral gear
and cog glommed
like a drain clogged with hair
nonetheless, no alarmist worry,
nor "worst case scenarios" betray
my ordinarily mellow emotional state,
thus any task I must delay
thoughts unstoppably captivated
by snoozing upon
a bed of freshly mown hay,
and then hours later
diminishing fatigue in catchy rye
ming verse aye re: lay
relishing being awake,
the mine true valued self I kin portray
best to surrender whereby
unfettered invisible manacle doth yoke
mine body electric unresponsive, yet woke
to myriad stuff dreams get made
ashen faced flesh impossible mission
to energize (think cattle prod) futile stoke,
thus methinks eternal sleep only option,
whereby yours truly only request do not provoke
nor poke
the bear, but only I make exception for
Little Red Riding Hood,
cuz she ranks as innocent young female folk.
4/27/17
Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn
Changes rarely or often
Occuring by the top of the river mouth and at the bottom
Near and far from fruits and vegetables still fresh or rotten
As well as any flowers starting to blossom
Fields full or barely with any cotton or pollen
House that do or don't have a black cauldron
On the walls paintings or posters of batman and robin
I stood solemn
And navigated inbetween columns
Before I saw a downtrodden
Individual with the stature of gollum
They were drinking some concoction
Out of a goblet and eating an opossum
Inside a sodden area full of toxins
I had options
But stopped to talk and help if they had a problem
Untrusting and unresponsive
Until they started to soften
When I spoke truthfully, they began feeling awesome
Then reached the goal, by using their noggin
Realizing we all are allotted
So much time even if more is what you wanted
Whether or not you paid homage
And seeked wealth and knowledge
Always had a little or a lot in common
Many a times I have fallen
Been long forgotten
Heed with caution
And watch it
I'm coming in with more speed than an aeronautic rocket
And the force of a super sonic comet
Sorry that it makes you uncomfortable and on the verge of being
about to vomit
No I'm not, to be honest
The reason the house is so called haunted
The monster underneath your bed and inside your closet
With more clarity than any prophet
Amid molecules that split or bonded
Lines remained dotted
Or connected in and out of any quadrant
As the universe was in constant
Motion with occasional paradoxes
By: Dalton Ogletree
To birds and beasts, God gave the breath of life
but into man, He inserted a soul.
From the dust, God made man in His image
and it is this soul that makes mankind whole.
Our eternal being rests in our souls.
Consciousness therein lies with each person
Some folks don’t realize they have a soul;
for it's their body they are immersed in.
When Adam and Eve defied their Creator,
over their soul, His spirit quit hovering
They had been unresponsive to His will
and their body thus lost its covering.
The connection with God, man’s spirit, had died
yet their body and soul remained alive.
The soul had a new-found mind of its own
apart from the plan that God had devised.
The redemption of souls is essential
to understanding that life is eternal.
Body and spirit are destined for death;
the soul is our seed, undying kernel.
The question remains – the soul’s salvation?
Christ’s death on the cross pardoned our sin;
restoring the connection with God’s spirit
which indwells all those who want His life therein.
When the body dies without a spirit
the soul goes straight to dwell in the abyss,
resting there 'til the Creator chooses
to inquire whence the spirit went amiss.
When the body that dies has Christ’s spirit
that soul goes straight into God’s keeping
to that heavenly place of rest called home
where we’ll serve Him with all of our being.
In Christ’s resurrection, believers have hope.
His Spirit guides the soul back into line
with what God always wanted - fellowship
with His creation, with all things benign.
That’s why I praise Him, the Lord of my soul.
Christ is risen, Hallelujah, I sing.
That is why I tell you, you can be whole
by believing in Christ, by making Him King.
written May 10, 2016
Though amply rested, I still yawn
And feel energized after
light exercise doth spawn
break through viz mental impasse,
where endeavor to coax
germinating ideas to sprout
about as successful as
buzzfeeding, jump/kick starting
rooting brown lawn
to whether drought.
Long fostering literary creativity
analogous to prying open
figurative curtain drawn
shut tight within
thy noggin unresponsive
even when brute force
strongly applied, but still...
no progress (for aging Pilgrim)
made come crack of dawn,
thus I temporarily abandon intent.
An effort to craft satisfactory poem or prose,
(which coveted, kindled, unexpected...
futile endeavor deluges me when
least able to jot down eureka,
whereby brainstorm burst adrip
saturating yours truly head to toes
dribbling out nostrils,
asper my porpoise size bottle nose,
hence this feeble effort to appease.
No expected attaboy, kudos, bravoes...
discerning metaphorical whaling expedition
beseeching, imploring, soaking...
mine mindscape with
profuse voluminous wisdom
sans anonymous followers
waiting for me to compose
usual meaningless gibberish or
rare profound nugget of wisdom to disclose.
While thrashing within cyber sea,
possibly abandoning ambition to compose
superbly laced, ginned, coined...
poetic adage gee oh
into magnum opus masterpiece
eye catchingly exotic creation
exquisite as silk negligee pantyhose
(yea...perhaps yours truly
will also send near nude selfie,
a worse fate than death
cab for cutie)
and chuck stock inhibition
brokering favorable frescoes
tattooed across flesh
accentuating anatomical contours of flab
wharf flexing muscles simulates geckoes,
(albeit selling progressive insurance)
appearing to slither across body electric
predictably ejaculating Freudian peccadillos,
now bolt upright - ******** awakened,
no longer sleepy,
but dwarfed by giant spuds,
no small potatoes
eh...yar right to deem this poker face
eccentric - born (free) this way,
how Elsa to explain (without lion)
rambling riotous rumination
one among many bumptious desperadoes,
and oh...mooch hoe gracias reading poem
bumbling, degenerating, fizzling...
into lobbying primal salvoes.
Do fireworks dim as we age?
Are we no longer on the same page?
Does skin become unresponsive to touch?
Do lips lose their tingle, though kissed as much?
Does the opposite sex lose their appeal?
Do we now cringe instead of squeal?
Does music lose it's rhythm, feet not want to dance?
For me.....for sure...not a chance!
I still love to swim in the nude.
I drink more wine than I should.
Enjoy each day more than before.
Surrender to impulse, let's explore...
Know better now to wisely spend,
each minute, each hour, each day God sends.
Just happy to be content in my skin.
Let's jump in my car and go for a spin.