Long Unsuccessfully Poems
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11:45pm
i was at Andrew's,
she says
oh, i see, i say
you remember Andrew?
she says
i don't, sorry,
what about Andrew?
i say
i told you
i had a crush on this guy
7 years back in the PhD
remember?
she says
i don't mind, i say
listen,
after long hangouts together
and many frozen dreams
i realized he was a gay,
she says
oh, i see, i say,
and he was married
married as two husbands
and the other husband
who also adopted a child
cheated on him
and they divorced...
she continues
oh, i see, now, i re-member,
i say
what **** is "oh, i see, i re-member..."?
5 hours i was with Andrew tonight,
with my gay friend, and once in a week,
why are you mad?
she says
listen, i used to mind,
but not now, girl friend or gay friend,
i say, self-assuredly but uneasily
...when you act superior
unsuccessfully, though,
you sound lunatic,
she says
and worse,
when two lunatics join
not knowing where to go
and stumble in darkness
of their ignorance of each other
they are nothing but walking sacks of ****,
i say
oh, i see, she says,
mockingly
you are the dog of night
who barks at something
he cannot see,
she adds
oh, my...! I scream, am I alone,
where is my
"My Brother's Keeper" gone?
now, my muse, Atete, jumps in
she walks me out
and whispers:
"Ase, listen! you can't run
from anything like this anymore
face it! make it or break it!"
"oh, Atete, now i see," i say
to my muse--
my muse aims to sing
songs of Love and Hope for me
but there isn't time...
and i come back
to balance:
the struggle within
and
the struggle without--
and to think of this
uneventfulness of Being...
now, before we go,
let us close this goddamned story thus:
when your muse whispers
when you don't listen
when there is not much to remember
when there is not much to forget
you are at dead-end, at an impasse--
maybe you made them a Priority
maybe you are to them only an Option
you can't tell turkey by feathers
let your Life and your Death be
not like theirs...
if Love betrays
Luck doesn't...
listen, beautiful loser!
**A Travel East**
We pass the Grand Mesa cruising like lightening at 95mph,
I feel like a passenger on a toy train.
A mountain 11,000 feet above the ground,
auburn colored, rock faced cliffs, complimented
by a spectacular baby blue sky.
Clouds scatter, trying unsuccessfully to cover
the rapid sunrise.
Blue,
Indian orange,
and red mix together well
with the beauty of the cliff face.
Along the base,
the Colorado river
races.
Not quite a rapid,
yet swift enough to scare rafters,
and small animals.
Miniature icebergs travel through a small channel
created in the ice of the once wide river.
A family of coyotes gather on a patch of solid ice.
The young playfully roam,
while the adults relax, lick themselves and watch.
Deer prance across the terrain,
chasing the train.
Detained,
inside a fence,
cattle graze in a group of one hundred or so.
A cottage rests along the perimeter
where children play.
Bundled from head to toe,
Snow,
thick and heavy.
Frosty is created!!
Homeward bound!!
The ride semi-pleasant,
better than the first.
The lavatory still with that distinctive
musky urine scent.
The passenger car seems bigger this time,
more spacious.
Room for my long legs,
and wide enough to accommodate my beer gut.
I hear the rantings of an old married couple
as they bicker about what time dinner should be reserved for.
Beside me,
laying awkwardly,
an old man snores.
Shallow breaths in between,
I can hear his heartbeat.
Pounding like
a heavy percussion solo,
his feet propped on his duffel bag below.
The lobby car when first entered
looked barren.
A few passengers sit with books and laptops,
others watch as the fast moving terrain passes
through the tinted double glass.
My cell phone lost battery life and I
needed the accommodation of electricity.
Occupied,
I wait for my turn.
From my peripheral I saw her,
I could sense her aura.
Smell her aroma of Vanilla Musk.
Dirty blond hair with red highlights,
short but not to short,
with a friendly disposition.
So,
I sparked a conversation,
that helped better this expedition.
Jared Pickett
3/7/08
Asavvy1
daybreak calls off moon's whitewash
in the wee of this morn I startled up from what quite seemed like a crash landing from midair plunge of a fledgling's first flight—thanks to my false 'alarmers'; the plantain eaters, I take them for angry doves, and yet, the laughing doves do coo me down in these dawns. Yeah... few months ago I stood behind my window bars, peering on as usual to catch a view or Olympic squirrels hopping from branches to clumps when I saw this floundered bird, soaring downwards, dipped through and crashing into razor leave and needle sharp branch nodes and some weather eroded bamboo sticks—the first time I might have witnessed a fallen angel, it was like a burning out star, this time shooting upside down.
emergency
circling above leaf falls
hawks siren
the day getting fast heat up as noon approaches, there's a whole of this host of hawks, rounding up the clumper and close by rooftops with squeaks and squeaks upon squeaks; what I thought at first was a catch that got dropped off grasp has become the target for rescue—like a fledging hanging frail and exhausted, trapped. But, the mating season of the African Harrier Hawk is just on, so could it be a male who got attacked by another male who tries to protect its territory as these hawks are found to be monogamous? I still focus on this rare scene in the air by the arboreal.
saccade
distorts in the dry wind
dragonfly drifts
eventide's in a frenzy and row, black and white mannikins chirr and ambience suppressed as squirrels chirp, join the coucal's moans and a choral flock of yellow warblers that doesn't wobble in a field of bromes—no ventriloquist's effects. Haven flown in wavy slides up and down, skimming near to claw and drag the victim out of the snare-like nest unsuccessfully, some hawks perch to catch a breath between the laughter of doves, the plantain eaters, claiming territory on the mango tree too, crackle and chase the hawks one by one, so I wondered if the hubbub had been intended for a jeer against the predators.
jungle marketplace
each seller and buyer bears
his woven basket
Logical me
Well, I find that kind of funny
Because how could you see me
If anything, as
Smart?
After Passionate me wrote so passionately
The letter I penned with the ink
Of my heart
When meek, Timid me tried unsuccessfully to
Admit to your face these feelings
I've had
And so Unhappy me thought quite reasonably
That unless I spoke up, the results
Would be bad
Compassionate me
Sympathized with Unhappy me, and found it
Unhealthy to keep such a love buried
Inside
The romantic in me paired with the poet in
Me, composing a letter I intended not
To hide
Soft-hearted me wrote of Altruistic you
Benevolent, Chivalrous, Wonderful you
Who
Could do no wrong in the hearts of my eyes
And what better way to thank you
Than with my love for your
Prize?
Hence
Loudmouthed me uncapped my bottle of tears
And Masochistic me poured them
Out onto the pages
And though this was no abuse, I wonder
Do I just get off on the pain?
It's
No sexual matter, but a matter all the same
Worrisome me might be obliged
To agree
That Hind Sighted me has lost these battles
For ages
But what reason had I to scar
My heart up again?
Whimsical me had none to do with this
Plot
It must be Twice-Shy me, for
I
Had been bitten, and I believed that through
Your love, I'd find the closure I sought
Two months
Past the fact, and Oh-So-Anxious me is
Squirming in her seat, making
The
Butterflies dance in my stomach while she
Waltzes so nervously
But
Suddenly, I think it's best not to expect
A response from All-Too-Cautious
You
As Logical me makes her way onto the scene
She and I realize that I've said
More than is enough
You get it, you know, and if you don't like
It, then tough
So I will say nothing, and let
You make up your mind
Logical me
Struggles to find the right in all this
Wrong, but it doesn't matter if
I do
Because despite Logical me's protesting screams
Illogical me
Still wants Wonderful you
analogous to expending precious Air Supply
embellishing, modifying, revising, et cetera
a poem crafted about fourteen months ago.
I take stock and revisit good ole days of yore
quite conscious undeclared state of war
prevails within body (Electric
Light Orchestra) of troubadour,
whereby creative juices did perforce pour
forth as if sung by one man koor;
now he haply seated at his Macbook Pro
today April 29th, 2022
accompanied with Christopher Robin,
Winnie the Pooh, and Eeyore.
Since January thirteenth of this year
(two thousand and twenty two),
yours truly suddenly feels
long in the tooth, i.e. auld,
he whose decrepit body and
gnarled hands ice cold
senility and senescence doled
rigor mortis virtuous vice grip extolled
coronavirus (COVID-19) motherlode
courtesy geomorphology dynamism fold
analogous to discovered vein of mined gold
grim reaper with scythe doth silently infold
(in Old English, scythe spelled siðe)
ore yonder church bell knolled
anonymous beat nickles less,
dime a dozen, day late
and dollar short sexagenarian
dropped out of Culture Club
(any strong resemblance between said poet
whose Grateful Dead head lolled,
and once living person purely coincidental)
death and decay, I lichen to mold
meself finally nill and void nolde
of unwanted excessive fleshy flab
scant personal possessions outsold
to highest bidder polled.
Dead weatherbeaten and fatigued soul
with absolute zero regret
no longer being alive,
immortality impossible mission to connive,
especially when endurance and stamina
took kamikaze nose dive
formerly earthlinked buzzfeeding
desiccated honeycomb hive
in tandem with former anxiety riddled psyche
need no longer worry
his existence perfect example
how hardship did misthrive
death be not proud penultimate quest
since adolescence (think anorexia nervosa)
he did (unsuccessfully) strive.
Well, he's goofy and gangly and thin up on top
And his real last name once began with a "Cop"
But I don't give a hoot about all of that
'Cause his box office draw's made his wallet grow fat.
If you listen quite closely to how this bloke talks
And you then watch how oddly he lists when he walks
Why, you'd think to yourself he'd be good as a clown
But I'm not trying here to just put the man down.
He's admitted that comics were where he got "Cage"
And his movies have made that fake name all the rage.
I've not kept a close count on how many there are,
But I tell you, my brothers, his fame extends far.
See, he's got this charisma that can't be denied
Plus a talent for acting that's as high as it's wide.
And he likes to take risks, gotta respect him for that,
Using methods that sometimes will end up falling flat.
One is called, NOUVEAU SHAMANIC, a phrase all his own,
And, then, WESTERN KABUKI, at which you might groan.
So his style's informed by the books that he reads
And he'll work it to death, or until it just bleeds.
It's a high wire act but with no safety net;
His unwavering panache makes me jealous, you bet.
Though I've tried my damned best to perform like this jock
On the set I'm as lame as a bump on a rock.
See, I've wanted to act since I was in 5th Grade
But allowed time to pass, maybe one whole decade
Before trodding the boards once again on the stage
So far back in the days when there was no Nick Cage.
I was hamming it up before Nick changed his name
Unsuccessfully striving to get in the game.
But to date Central Casting is as far as I've gone;
About all I've done there is to camp out on their lawn.
So I've hatched me a plan, will you please hear me out?
Take the shillings you're saving for Nick's latest flick
And, instead of enriching that overgrown lout
Send them here to yours truly, and best make it quick.
“Pop, hold on to me.” The son said with a smile as he opened the passenger side door…and I was instantly transported to a time 24 years before.
Our son, Bryan, was getting his drivers license and in front of us as we stood in line abreast…stood an older man with his father…who was taking the vision test.
The old man put his head in the machine…but something went awry…when asked to read the top line…”I can’t!” was his reply
“Let me try again.” The old man insisted. “Which line did you say?”
The screener answered, “the top line” then the old man stepped away
He looked at his son next to him…then angrily back at the screen…
“I’m not sure,” he said to his son, “but I think there’s something wrong with this machine.”
“Miss,” he asked the lady who had let out a cynical yawn, “this machine you’re using for my test…are you sure the darn things on?”
“I’m sure.” The lady replied…her voice was low and grating…
“Read the top line please.” She repeated, “there are many people waiting.”
In a voice that seemed so unkind…as if she was provoked…
She said, “If you cannot read the first line, sir, your license is revoked.”
The old man pushed his head back in to the machine then cried out, “This can’t be!” as he unsuccessfully tried to read a line he could not see.
Next he took a step back…he looked old and frail and weak…but he stood up tall, straightened his clothes and brushed a tear from off his cheek.
“Don’t worry, Pop.” His son said. “This is nothing we can’t survive…after all the years you drove me around…think of this as my turn to drive.”
“Pop, hold on to me.” He said as they slowly waked out the door. “I’ll drive you home the same way you drove me home before.”
The memory of that day will always be special to me…not just because Bryan passed his test…but it was also the day I saw in a son’s love…a father truly blessed.
The Antics Of A Would Be Mama's Yoyo Thief
(now a penchant with less Zionist trenchant ululation to vent.)
Not a peep passed thru mine -
aye vaguely attest
what ten? eleven? twelve? age
of following anecdote at best
guest, but no
doubt yours truly
with figurative heart in chest
scared puny meek boy
tight lipped silently confessed
to foiled attempt, sans trying
unsuccessfully to steal a yoyo,
inviting tummy prepubescent
unbuttoning, a substantially
sprawling Holy skype sizing breast
of mine upon be nabbed,
thus aye didst detest
foolish kid ploy, and
(prematurely nipping
in the bud) messed
up potential life of crime
with first and only
shoplifting heist jest
for getting caught no a pest
key yoyo, mama would
(IF FOUND OUT)
axe me no quest
chin, but whack me itty bitty
teensy weensy derriere lest
quickly putting to rest
any Robin Hood
fantasy life of
high stakes crime pressed,
and squeezed out the noggin
with apropos punishment addressed
thankfully, neither parent
got wind, nor ever guessed
their beautiful darling
boy did test
petty theft, never
matured nor didst crest
into a profitable "yoyo
string Ponzi like
scheme," thus ballsiest
dare devilish and bitterest,
and laughably noble lest
act yours truly ever attempted
immediately ceased to shelve bravest
sleight of hand find
delve during broad est
daylight, I immediately
didst shelve, when clumsiest
initial foray into
the world wide web
tubby come cleverest
lad, this side of
Lansdale, Pennsylvania
many damnedest
yesterdays ago, never
took another earnest
tempting gamble since security
detail nearly wrest
head possible zapped feeblest Ames?
to pilfer from other
Department stores if pressed
for money no matter,
I might miss an enforced
hated ballet class,
with abs salute zest!
You'll All Know When I Die.
Ya wanna know why?
Because I possess what many would see as amazing abilities,
but these abilities of mine can be attained by anybody
who takes the time to learn, practice and read.
Do you know that I can trace any computer users actual physical locality?
I never would but I could easly.
It's as easy as tracing a phone call with Caller ID.
There isn't a system that any computer hacker can't infiltrate easily,
but there are precautions one can take for their computer's and their own personal safety.
For example use public computers at varying different localities
and that will make a computer hacker stalker's finding you an impossibility.
There is also out there a lot of diversion computer technology.
This will keep any hacker too occupied to get a fixed trace temporarily.
Log off within a specific time period and the hacker's trace will end unsuccessfully.
Which brings me back to the beginning, You'll All Know When I Die
because when I know it's all over for me, I'm gonna leave you all with a great surprise.
It's time for a Revolution in my once great country
being destroyed by political bureaucrats and corporations motivated by greed,
so just before I die for all of you I will leave
a new beginning for my once great magnificent country.
I will infiltrate the IRS computer system with a virus successfully
and wipe out every social security number of every citizen in the country.
You can then all not pay your taxes without fear of losing your assets and property.
Of course all this information can eventually be retrieved
but it will take generations for our government to achieve.
I only hope that my parting gift will be a rebirth and not destruction of my country,
but if something doesn't change soon in my once great country
The United States of America will self destruct anyway eventually.
Walls closing in on the darkness that surrounds the very edges of my thoughts as I force a fake smile to appear along my face with eyes clouded insecurely holding my innermost pain… Buried down deeply in the deepest forgotten center of my aging body lies the innocence that was unwillfully stolen and damaged… The innocence of a bright blossoming child/young adult that once shined brightly twinkling in the brown pools of my eyes instantly taken away leaving behind an emptiness that I unsuccessfully tried to fill with sexual conquests and hatred… Hatred for the lack of attention to small details, for blindly overlooking the change within myself… The once happy, loving and sensually sweet hearted innocence child was now a violently empty promiscuous young adult who now lacked the self respect and self love that once filled the beautifully instilled thoughts floating around in her mind. Continuous shots and toxic blows continued to diminish and damage the love and respect of oneself from deeply within… Depression stalks the painfully mirrored images of the past… Once beloved activities turned into crushingly unmotivated projects of self doubt and inner hatred.. the fight to stay strong becomes a down spiraling roller coaster as the willingness to drown into the smallest corner to shield the last bit of love and happiness within yourself as the gleaming brightness that once filled your eyes drains and diminishes until it numbingly dies out in front of the very mirror that use to portray your greatest lie covered by a mask of makeup until you no longer recognize that immensely damaged individual you craved to never become.. Numb, broken and defeated are words that continuously run rampantly inside your mind as you drift into a slumber of nothingness you wonder if this was all you!