Long Unthought of Poems
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Sometimes it seems all the love songs have already been written;
No new ways for “I love you” are left to be said.
Sometimes it seems all the love plays have already been scripted,
And all the love sonnets have already been read.
Then when you are with me I know that can’t be true;
There must be love songs that have not passed any one's throat.
The love I feel for you never before has been experienced;
There must be some unsung love musical notes.
Sometimes it seems all the love poems have already been thought of;
No love words are left yet to be rhymed.
Sometimes it seems all the love phrases have already been whispered;
No new sayings can new lovers find.
Then when you kiss me I know that I must be the first one
To ever feel love as deeply as I do.
And so there must be some way unthought-of
To express just how much I love you.
Forgotten you
As your mind collects the memories of yesterday
Forgotten You
Epiphanies tie into knotty strings of realization
That very moment. . .
You merely exist
Back then. . .those smiles
Those. . .distant laughs
Some you remember by name
Gone now maybe
Like the exhalation of the wind
Others dispersed in the world of arbitrary happening
Like leaves from falling, man-made trees
There is no doubt that they have
Forgotten you
Activate the bomb
Ignite the fuse
And you’re on next year’s history book
Never forgotten
But drained of all remaining good
That smile you gave
That happiness
The warm embrace so long ago
Salt-coated with piles of rubbish
Over last remaining mental spurts of comfort
Evil, evil, evil, evil, EVIL. . .
Always absorbed and remembered
. . .though never forgiven. . .
All good and gracious sentiments
Packed up in a box set nonchalantly in Downstair’s storage
. . .that chair with the broken leg in the corner of the room
That mangled cobweb holding a dangling, lifeless spider
A drowned sailor’s hat drifting through the current of the ocean
The single tear from a soldier’s vigilant, memory-stricken eye
The frustrating thoughts of a mute
The unchanged. . .HATED deformations
Forgotten you. . .
One soul brings to light weary, unthought-of happenings
Wedged deep into what she can only imagine
With not even a hint of understanding
. . .of the pain. . . .of the bewildering distortions
Of the ugly. . .
One soul merely vomits sickly verse after verse
As humanity embraces its downfall
The poet hangs onto her unjustifiable, forgotten. . .
Words
In the mystical charisma of Sunrise.
I see a hint everything turning out,
thoughtfully,
in an unthought of way.
A way that is like hidden gold.
A way that is paved so as to not owe
for anything.
The price having already been paid.
The secret, the heart having more
than meets the eye- within it.
It,
knowing when to act, what to do,
just how to thank the Lord.
Written: December 11, 2023
_________________________________________
Intricate depiction of a being?
That a single hand could create
Beneficial matters can be evanescent
When built out of yielding clay?
Molded into fiction, scales, and tails
In terms of creative process,
Ground and airborne entities
Morph into unthought-of shapes.
A refined intellect creates ephemera
Quickly under a gentle moonlight
I'm floating in the swaying elevator
Regarding heavenly breezes.
Hair converts into poet-trees from poetry
Yet untamed ideas are captivated
With the spirals and knuckles
Brilliant sculptor's vision and decision.
lifting our minds into untamed sight
Those who grasp this routine are lucky
And the beholders of moonbeam dreams
Pursue the path that moves the heart.
The veil is there for a powerful reason,
And yet some of us can see what prances from the other side
Through automatic writing and psychometry
We can immediately feel loved or frightened.
It is best to not intentionally pull back the curtain
Unless you are a shaman or wise woman with roots
That are deep, clear, open to unthought of possibilities,
And you are willing to face the consequences
Many of us can travel to the otherworld in our dreams
Some go nightly. Astral travelers
Yet do we remember in the morning?
Often if we have not developed language of this lifetime yet
The veil is there not as a warning
But as a protection
When we sense something is wrong
The warnings come from beyond the veil; pay attention.
Your spirit guides might be trying to save your life.
Of course, the demons use this avenue too.
This is when you really need to listen to your internal feelings.
It was a woodcut in our high school history text, Unit 4 Beginnings of the
Modern World, that so disturbed,
from the Nuremburg Chronicles depicting the burning of the Jews, flat
perspective,
faces of the victims among flames, in no particular agony, not especially
Jewish,
during the Black Death 1/3 of Europe died 1347-1351 alone. Although
you die together you die alone.
Earlier that week, I had attended our 6th grade's performance of Fiddler on
the Roof, thinking
Coltrane should have recorded Matchmaker as a bookend to My
Favorite Things
but as the play darkened
with the town's absorption into the diaspora, democracy
yet unthought of and rule of law a fig leaf for authority
Jasper, who played Zero Mostel, delivered his line well to the effect
you're just doing your jobs while wrecking our lives.
Anyway, nothing like that is happening here, is it?
The gardener planting tomatoes, the gravedigger finding skulls,
there is so much life a little death won't matter.
Jasper
was a beautiful ham,
big as Zero.
A friend posed
this question: must all states be melting pots like the United States?
I said yes
not because they should but since
it's inevitable. Let labor flow like capital!
America was the last word of the play and brought a tear of pride to my
eye.
Immigration, exasperating argument re the Other.
How many's more than enough? 9 billion, a rational,
real number that exceeds or
we're convinced
is within the carrying capacity of the planet.
Climate change is the new Black Death.
I like the Amerindian body type and face mixed in with the European,
African.
The irrepressible economy rolls out reams of logs, ores of elements, bags
of ice, fields of rice.
Embargo. The moon stares, bare, full of interstellar space.
Better a cold shoulder than a visit from our military.
The crazy Nazis must have felt themselves extraordinarily compassionate
toward the mother, earth, the goddess, history, or some such
abstraction and, thus, acted on a fraction of all they did not know.
Selfless soldiers just doing their jobs guarding the border or,
on the other hand, collecting fagots for the burning of the Jews.
The sun doesn’t rise in these terrible skies
The world was in ruins once
Some kind of beautiful
Hell sat around us
Just you and me
This was the saddest
The truth could be
It was like yesterday didn’t matter
Only a banjo
A fiddler and untouched strings
Do you remember
It was some kind of beautiful
Lovely was a disastrous sport
And futbol was a feeling
Cigarettes ran from touch
Smoke came as a form of trust
And hope remained a potion of bad luck
Do you remember when hell sat around us
Tomorrow was unthought-of
We were fishing for the blues
Day light in sunny nights
A harvest moon
A picnic with apples
Oranges and tomatoes ripe
A midseason delight
Can you guess who’s home
We were just about human again
"metaphors, cliche's, & no one else"