Long Unset Poems
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many miles I have rome
and called many boats a home
they've taken many place
to meet alot of faces
I lived different lives
with three lovely wifes
the first on I met at a red light
got her pregnant that night
all she did was lie and demand
she even hit me with a frying pan
I was so angry with my spouse
I left on a boat called"she got the house"
well the second one was in a bar a wishing
that captain mike would take her fishin
I did call her honey
but I really married her for the money
then on day I was a thinking
maybe if I knocked her up she'd quit drinking
after 9 months my plan had worked
but it came with one small quork
one day I came home
she had moved to san antone
unset she didn't want to know me
I called the next sailboat "blow me!"
the third wife had a few zits
but I think I married her for her tig bits
not sure no memories I had
she was just there when I got out of rehab
couldn't tell you the times I had
she was young and had an attorney for a dad
her dad wanted so much to relate to me
that he even paid for my vi-sec-tow-me
but towards me he held some grudges
and in the same law firm with all the judges
sure the blame on me they'd be nailing
again I desided it was time to go sailing
so with my buddy dave
who loved to misbehave
I told my wife I was getting some bread
I got on my boat and took off instead
a year and a quarter sailing I don't deny
I called that boat the "ReasonY"
I sailed to fill a void but it was so skimpy
my sails were full but my soul was empty
couldn't find happiness where ever I rome
for the first time I desided to go home
two months to the day you could set your clock
I finally made it to my home dock
and to what supprize my eyes did see
my wife was standing there waiting for me
bye gones were by gones wrongs made right
she missed me so much and we made love all night
I traded the "ReasonY" for a gas guzzling power boat
to make sure I couldn't ever aford to go so remote
togo sailing with out her I promised I'd never
just to make sure we'd always be together
now my sails are gone and my soul is full
towards her I feel my heart pull
now everyday is like our first date
and we call our new boat "the soulmate"
by Capt. Mike Harris
A Change Is A Com'n
Though this baby boomer,
(who didst roam man
upon this Earth
since the year
mcmLix) does not
coon sitter himself
a political activist his wear
re: some ness, particularly
with chronic setbacks
inaugurated by President
Donald Trump, an in volunteer
re: response, (asper just
the faintest hint
of a smile) veer
really played itself across
my countenance un bear
ably impossible to depress, repress,
and/or suppress, upon
gleaning America Online
cover headline indicating
Representative Beto O’Rourke,
a (Texas Democrat) care
fully, sir up tush hiss lee,
reportedly, and quietly
considering a 2020 grab
for White House
commander in Chief chair
met with Barack Obama dare
ring political polls
to hedge intimation,
though true motives unclear
that said progressive
former named person
(from Lone Star State)
might be seriously sincere
conjoining what promises
to be a dynamically
hearty, lucky, and plucky
solution to uptear,
the present woebegone crisis
of dreadlock, gridlock, and
padlock stasis, the political
ship of state (Leviathan
countenanced by Thomas Hobbes
circa 1651) pitching
United States government
upon reprehensible threshold
inching the Doomsday Clock
closer than ever to thermonuclear
global mortal kombat triggering
unset of unstoppable subnuclear
barrage in record time (mere
minutes transforming the
world wide web into
many a schmear
compromising most all life
into a bajillion bits
of pulverized powder,
guaranteeing the demise,
sans *****sapiens,
and thus no
Santa Claus to steer
the motley crue
of feisty reindeer,
this above mentioned dissolution,
would sadly, unfortunately,
wretchedly remove *****
as well the straight
sexually oriented persons matter,
would become reconstituted
into surprise show stopping premiere
of some alternate lifeform,
no doubt signalled
with at least one outlier
or maybe even a noncareer mutineer!
Phase:1
I found myself in a market..,
Market of human cattles.,
Trying to get through the situation.,
My wrists were tied with metals..
It was half past seven.,
Neglecting all my requests and prayers.,
Weighing my proper count.,
I was announced for a demon.,
I screamed 'No'..,
And kicked hard over ground.,
But only an injection.,
And my sleep was sound..,
Phase:2
A big giant face against mine.,
I got the intension..,
Yelled 'No., please don't...'
But no mercy or its sign..,
I lost all my rhymes of life .,
Colors were smashed that night.,
Scratches yielded screams.,
Force gave me fatality.,
Bites turned to bellows..
And his pleasure putted sobs..,
Voice was choked and..
My tears were alloyed with sweat.,
The delicate places I reserved for someone special..,
All were now messed and unset..,
My tall neck I dreamt
to be loved by my future husband.
Was now scratched savagely.,
By his rough rigid and ruthless hand.,
Each time I afforded some courage..,
But hands were caught and mouth tied with bandage.,
Lost all my senses.,
But felt each jerk..,
He was pride at..,
each stain he created dark..
Phase:3
My service was over..,
No scream,nomore shriek,or shout..,
Jammed muscles were relaxed now.,
I was plugged out..,
All my world..,
World full of dreams.,
I embroided earlier with my own gilt.,
Was now transformed to this.,
Dirty, filthy and quilty quilt.,
Tears were dried., breath was back.,almost correct now..,but I know ...,
I was turned from a girl to a women in a single go..,
Never I will eye myself again..,
Never will be able to.,
Never I will return to my family..,
Neve will be able to.,
Never I will find that someone special..,
Never will be able to.,
Never I will get healed.,
Never will be able to.,
Never I will dream at night .,
Never will be able to.,
This nightmare digged deep in me.,
And a lifelong terror created by that unknown he.
Why not we all protest?...and get a full stop ...why?. Always LET IT BE.
Life is entanglement plus time,
A Gordian knot of opportunities,
Each ravel a riddle to solve
or a battle to be won.
We grab and pull at the gnarls,
Greedy fingers seeking solutions alone.
Though the more we worry them,
the tighter the fibers cling together,
defeating our efforts with every turn.
The working ends unhitched and hidden,
Knots impossible to untie without another;
Desperate, we seek the means to unset
the tightened rounds of coil.
We need only look up from our lonely struggle,
Unhand the ties and trice up munitions,
In favor of a more effective weapon,
for a prize worth more than any puzzle.
Love is the sword that cuts,
The foil to Gordius' grateful gift,
The force that frees us from the knots
that bind us alone in despair.
Love is the lens that exposes the path,
To unraveling the tangled mess,
To bearing witness to the holism of loops
and eyes along the same length of rope.
Love alone is the key that unlocks
The secrets of the tightly-wound tangle,
Revealing the pattern of the overlaps
and the beauty of the intermingled angles.
With love as our scope, we can maneuver
Through the maze of twists and turns,
Unleashing joys and embracing the weight
of the lessons we learn as the bind slowly burns.
Through patience and kindness, we can loosen
The strands that have wound us so tightly,
Embracing the challenge and refusing to choose
the path of ire or slacking down without a fight.
So let us unravel the knot with hearts ablaze
And together minds set on finding the way,
With love as our sword and our site and our hope,
we can unravel the rigging and seize hold of the day.
I did not mean to snatch your heart
Like with the claw of a vorocious bird of pray
You fell into my unset trap
Speared yourself upon my harpoon
Which had only been hanging on the wall
You threw yourself into my way
stole my arrows and brandishing them with cupids blood
Punctured your heart without a thought
Other than the whisper of my name
You claim that I'm a siren
I've led you to your death
But it was the birds i sang to
Your name did not leave my unforgiving lips
With swollen eyes from crying
Filled with swirling colors of obsession
You beg to me and plead with me
Blaming me and cursing me
Claiming that i drug you here
Forgetting it was you who snuck in through my balcony
To watch me in the fountains
And listen to my voice
To see how the animals follow me
And witness how the moon becomes my robes
And the stars become my eyes
How the setting sun remains all night
Within the silk of my hair
how roses color my cheeks
In the darkness of the cold
And the world surrounds me
And the beauty of the light i behold
Where in this story did i bewitch you
Where did i make you call my name
Did i once respond or invite you to play a game
you claim i did this to you
When you only did it to yourself
did you enjoy your gaze upon the child of Cerynian
Did you think I'd become your obediant wife
When did i claim i loved you
How quickly you think of these blasphemous lies
Your not in love you simpleminded mortal
Your infatuated and in lust and your lust is a lie
With descent and ascent in every walking steps
Treading through the coppice thorns and comforting steppes
Being drowned and floated into many mighty oceans
Bearing the torment of chides and humiliations
Getting browbeaten and vanquished by many
Boats of motivation often being crushed by wild hurricanes abruptly
Leaving oneself in desponding tears and despair
Yelling for a help and another new repair
Sousing into the heavy rains,walking indefatigably
Travelling under the baking heats and beats strenuously
Into the thick bog and dirt we lapse
Again with provocative hope and aspire we arise
We grow and grow stronger than before
We grow stronger to face the challenges more
That life throws onto us
Be it either for blessing or curse
This is life and it's going on and on
We are experimenting and experiencing as we sail individual's boats in swan
The bitter sweet of life's flavour
A sweet and charitable at last is its savor
We grow and change to brand new good
For one and all to play the role of knighthood
To secure and maintain happiness to all
Leaving no goals unset and dreams fall
Live and let this life live lively
Create your memoirs hively
And end your days contentedly
Copyright © Dawa Zangpo |25/07/2018.
Here, where all things burn
When finally we learn how we could never be enough
These tears shed for the empty years
Such searing pain is all remembering
She sang a song of sorrow
Like Cassandra before dead ears and hollow eyes
Doomed, destined, fated, lost, frustrated by her empty cries
Fears incomprehensible, unmitigated
Now created
We, who would not listen
We, too busy with our reasoning
And heedless of the path we followed
Ignorant of its origin or destination
Hollowed, carved our souls into oblivion
And claimed that Truth must truly lie therein
Within a void, self-made
Is it really we who have betrayed ourselves into this new oblivion
Have we made, from this ash and from this dust, a frame of nothingness
A canvas, blank, unset with stars we'd hoped so desperately to find
Stars which we knew could never be defined
Is truth so pure a thing as this
Pervading emptiness
A trust that we can grasp a thing
So infinite
A void
Which never ends
Are we to be left with
What we had
When we began
She sings songs of the morrow
Of the dawn we wish that we could see
When sorrow blurs these empty eyes
We tried so hard to fall so far
Now here we are
Blind eyes turned toward
These starlit skies
Form:
From beneath the patina of the rusted times
on the surface of the marooned mind
I uncover a buried pathway in the dusty memory
on which the tormented thoughts travel backward
to the deserted room, its peeling walls pasted with
pieces of frosted mirror of the shattered past,
still hanging uncared in dust.
The last rays of the setting sun
enters the room through the window I keep open
to the twilight when all the faces I once knew
dissolve in the flushing gleam of the dying day
but for the one that glows like the crimson sun unset,
the descending night hasn’t yet shrouded in oblivion.
I see a pair of pensive eyes with frozen drops of tear
poised unshed on the eyelid petals, looking at me
the forlorn way they did when I left her for good
in the dusk a long time ago.
That time hasn’t yet lost its way
in the meandering memory lane, her fragile face
appears unushered so often on the broken mirror
of my desolate mind that reflects tiny drops of tear
in the deserted corner of her pleading distant eyes
I want to forget.
October 5, 2018
Master Magician
Oh the thrill, the wonder.
Each move something to ponder.
From whence did this come?
Out of a hat, rabbit is from?
My heart races and my brain aches
As I try to have some sense this make.
Abracadabra and a flick of the wrist.
Astonishment none can resist.
Each step done in perfect time.
This moment a dream most sublime.
I thirst for more and cannot look away,
For this awe I feel demands I gaze.
Forgive me, magic man, but I must ask.
Was this a plan, or a chanced task?
Could you be this skillful, truly,
You needn’t plan or practice to astound me?
Or is it that I am so simple yet,
My mind so dull, so droll,
That my taste is undeveloped, unset,
Because I haven’t seen such a fine show?
But I swear I have seen such tricks,
In the times that are now past.
But they were a house of bricks,
Compared to your cathedral vast.
I beg you, let me closer to observe.
That I may praise your show, as well as you deserve.
Master Magician, too far please don’t stray.
For this fan looks forward to nothing more
Than when your show comes back to town someday.
Ode to Heathens
For Bob Atkinson
Tree bark never minds
that it is not smooth,
or is peeling,
or bears the scars of two stranger’s names;
It stands against the wind
and lifts its leaves to the light.
Trees never fret
that their limbs are not set straight;
they flower;
they fruit;
they invite the nest,
and give rest to weary birds,
and aren’t their twisting branches singing?
Wildflowers are still g ay and bright
though the caterpillar has left some grateful holes in the leaves and petals.
The bees still come;
this is where honey comes from.
They still enjoy the wind, the rain,
no roof to block the stars.
They still have their roots,
not prettied and removed,
gathered in the wells of crystal coffins.
Have you ever seen the ground
glitter with scattered crystals
brought fresh from the mine,
uncut, unpolished, unset,
that make the sun laughing-shatter
and sparkle on the ground with joy?
What then
if a poet reaches for the light with twisting lines?
All these heathen things,
where do you think art comes from?