Long Untrammeled Poems
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Poetry knows no age, as thee Marcia
Abramsohn (the former ex lady friend
of my late father corresponded with me
some years back)
wrote (by hand nonetheless,
a long lost art) inlaid with ambidextrous
zealousness impossible to identify,
which hand crafted artistically colorful
epigrammatic ghostly hint emblematic
of former exuberance toward English
Language..., perhaps other once
vibrantly familiar tongues wagging
less as tempus fugit slithers unseen
stealing most cherished, prized, savored...
commodity set to countdown immediately
post parturition, yet blessed for thee
to be gifted your then four score plus four
amazingly graceful journeys celebrating
your existence replete with handmaid's
tales chronicling quotidian trials and
tribulations, yet still adept, buoyant,
cogent, diligent, eloquent, fervent,
gallant, hellbent, intent, jimmying,
kindling, loving, mustering, nursing,
outlasting...Methuselah (ha...if only)
lucid moments nudging awake
memorialized occasions, where once
upon a time (seems bajillion years ago)
innocence concomitant with naivete
throve, wherein unfettered dalliances
found untrammeled lasses and lads
absorbed with natural unbridled virgin
love – gathering rosebuds while they may
whispering sweet nothings strictly
for respective paramour, (this of course
hearsay and speculation) promising each
other moon and stars ah...dusty fading
memories, yours truly can never recount,
(cuz mental illness co-opted, hijacked,
up-ended...adolescent maturation,
whereby agonizing crippling forfeiture jabs
silhouetted illusory oasis peopled with
all the golden opportunities left to wither
on the vine o'mine youth, which mirage
mocks escapist attempt into literary realm
invisible dead poets society regale an
existence bereft nope, no App could
ever even virtually duplicate (even
approximate) sidelined unrequited love,
and no this marriage yielded scanty
satisfaction, which fantasy life as
Norwegian bachelor farmer
(within mine imagination) solved,
where living off the grid remedied
forever being pennilessness, day late
dollar short dime a dozen dirt poor
dude dulling dufus...that's the news from
my Lake Woebegone...where all the
women...and children above the law
never get reprimanded.
Twenty-four hours ago,
the wind ran across the lake searching for a place to land.
Some shingles followed, torn from their topless roots.
This morning there is some abuse,
feathers fly on their own,
the mallards are whispering in the huddled reeds,
however, daylight stubbles upright
into a high-rising sky.
The television is predicting clear sight soon.
The radio coughs, and stutters, its talk
flutters from a loose tongue.
Behind closed doors
we gather wool from clouded minds.
Ropes of rain tangle the already tangled,
yet the air is not short of fresh breath,
it recovers
in the untrammeled stems of the living.
Tawny is the hair upon the slim vixen's back,
it is as sleek as ever; she goes to the water,
to sip the last few drops of a homeless storm
long past.
SONNET FROM CHRIST
I never thought of coming to this evil land
My father sent me though it wasn't a command
I was invisible until I turned dust
It was my father's wish thus a must
You were all uncircumcised until I arrived finally
I came to set you free
I was not unaware of the pain I would go through
They debased me because of you
I was virtually nude when they hanged me on that transit tree
My father's wish came to pass untrammeled
You whom I freed went back and stumbled
After I sacrificed my blood, you subjected me to disdain
My father sometimes feels I came to toil in vain
You hide behind the facade of my commemoration and escalate my pain
What formerly got celebrated as adventitious age of exploration...
1492 unleashed, jump/
kick started, and downloaded
a bittorrent götterdämmerung
spelling genocide of indigenous peoples
occupying Turtle Island,
now surviving tribes
just a shell of their former grandeur.
At present Columbus day
linkedin with high dudgeon
courtesy scattered remnants
of once proud nations
occupying contiguous United States
plus calling Alaska and Hawaii
their happy hunting grounds,
enshrine actual or mythologized
spectacular pièce de résistance
instances when counting coup.
I recollect needing to know
scores of years ago
when a student attending grade schools
within Lower Providence District
as an important bit of information
contributing to (white washed) history
of western civilization
(and never forgot)
recalling the names Nina, Pinta,
and Santa Maria associated
with heroic measures undertaken
by Cristóbal Colón,
(but also been referred to,
by himself and others, as Christoual,
Christovam, Christofferus de Colombo,
and even Xpoual de Colón)
five hundred and thirty years ago,
who purportedly "discovered"
the Americas, when in
fact native occupants of the land
already dwelled upon
the then island paradises.
He/him and subsequent swashbuckling
gung-ho high spirited men
set sail across expanse of ocean(s)
exhibiting eager intent to claim
untrammeled storied quintessentially
opulently magnificent kingdoms
intoxicating greedy Europeans.
Blatant exploitation inexorably nudged
courtesy trickery vis a vis hook and crook
to grab good & plenty treats
forcibly wrested by violence
sabotaging the delicate webbed wide world
constituting millenniums of heavenly bliss,
where marauders wantonly ransacked
indeed lacking absolute zero selflessness
forcing diverse autochthonous nations
to acquiesce and surrender
ancestral grounds to aggressive, coercive
and offensive Europeans hell bent
to populate occupied territory
commandeering, humiliating, manhandling,
poisoning, subdividing, triangulating
every square inch
encompassing fruitful grand home
of rightful heirs to stolen
near boundless tracts
eventually hashtagging uncharted
pristine green acres
spanning from sea to shining sea
becoming commercial real estate
falsely claiming a haven
housing home of the free
land of the brave.
Rain drags words out of a dark sky.
Words raw enough to grow antlers,
lightsome enough to slip between
parting flesh,
unmade words grown
from mouse ears and the stringy lips
of hollow reeds.
A long untrammeled Celtic rivering
unabridged and uttered sheer.
If I croon a cobbled nursery hymn
then that blank meaningless verse
might transmute into the ancient rattle
of pebbles on a Scottish beach,
or a seagulls blare from a bobbing coracle.
Something frail and Irish stumbles by,
size it up, seize it, snare it,
unlatch its tenuous tones, the lull and hum,
let it rest between harboring cheeks
recall itself through the hollow bones
of the fierce and fallen.
I cannot understand languages,
not broken languages and their scrabble
their luggage was ever too heavy on my tongue,
but Gaelic is a raptor in my blood
or a cuckoo born
in a ten thousand year old nest.
Here in the flood of a singing rain,
I could be damaged enough
to be what I seek,
then perhaps faraway mountains
would haunt no more.
Ideally yours truly prefers
a she/her who never got prosecuted for a felon,
yet who most deaf fin knit lee
possesses sound blinding killer instincts
think miracle worker Anne Sullivan
signifying rendering phenomenal success
with one female named re: amazing Helen
exhibiting discerning admirable qualities
constituting intelligent witty male
despite his/him sports haunch size of a melon.
I gently beckon inspiration
for dalliance with mother tongue
English Language, each
singular lettered manifestation
familiar to yours truly symbolized
by panoply, sans twenty six letters,
whereby this patient wordsmith
luxuriates, when writer's block
yields sudden gush,
nee burst of creativity
dissolving impenetrable wall
mental log jammed impasse,
discourages literary ambitions
dashed exerted forcefulness
'pon cerebral terra incognita
counterproductive grip locks
figurative drawbridge begetting
utmost frustration allowing egress
and ingress constituting obstructed surge
temporarily disabling free and clear
transmission between damned fount
barricading abundant bajillion ideas
silent at loggerheads clangor and din
analogous between unswerving enemies
prepared to fight till the death,
exhausting mental energy expended
attempting armistice with futile results,
hence quixotic oft repeated
time tested metaphor
i.e. deliberate pressure foisted
upon seat of aging cerebral matter
inadvertently coloring fist sized organ
at least fifty shades of gray,
versus unexpurgated brainstorming
linkedin with unfettered restraint
breeds favorable prodigious ideas
jotted/ typed stream of consciousness fashion
modus operandi favorable to engender
receptive access, asper (gas) excellent see
i.e. entrance untrammeled leeway
with minimal clash of opposing
titanic invisible entities
thus, aye abandon battering ram
to experience positive outcome
giving good n plenti profuse flood
unstoppable geyser spewing
plethora of appealing material
to arrange into cogent affinity,
energy, magnanimity and synchronicity!
'Tis I, your ruin ...
I, the scourge, unseen ... the "C" word
I am death's abettor, the bête noire
So do your worst, in my ruthless wake
The cold chaos of cells that rages rampant
Weaponizing blood and bone and marrow ... and breath
Seething untrammeled as the burn of abandon, afire
I play no favorites, I see no chalk or choice
Health is the meat of my prerogative, the blood of my intent
I strip vitality and strength from bones like a butcher
And hang them raw to be branded ... "terror"
I scrape beauty and flesh to maim motherhood, passion
I divest masculinity of its vital seed, choke the air from lungs, gasping
I ravage little lives before they begin, to glaze their sparkling eyes
I plunder and rape and kill in a thousand myriad fashions
One no less callous or malevolent than the other
And the only weapons you have to raise against me - your only hopes
Are near as vicious and unappeasable as I am, (smiling)
Oh, hear me and fear me, humankind ...
I am chasing, relentless ... your ruin.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "Topic Of Cancer" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
I go back,
reversing imaged time
to when I felt
and knew untrammeled internal space
responsive within external
eternally immortal times
of Earth's regenerative history.
For some,
less fortunate re-imagining,
comparing rights,
contrasting lefts
I hear no such winning exterior ecopolitics
with winning internal empowerment
and self-investment
since emerging from EarthMother's
redundant DNA nurturing womb.
But, for a few,
a time of peace
recalls a later conscious memory,
a time of courageous and curiously restoring justice
to those few relationships
showing early signs of uncreative tension.
These, unusually blessed
with resilient confluence,
may not recognize each other
and yet search for their potential bodhisattva peers,
returning to these childhood experiences
to remember slowly regrowing what went right
and vulnerably wrong
for restoring peace-filled justice
within and without
ego/eco-empowering tipping points,
wealth of healthy co-redemption
For all wombs,
their plantings and yieldings,
now still searching
through past generations
still incarnate in wounds and reweavings
birthing future health-seeking regenerations.
Poetry knows no age, as thee Marcia
Abramsohn write (by hand nonetheless,
a long lost art) inlaid with ambidextrous
zealousness impossible to identify,
which hand crafted artistically colorful
epigrammatic ghostly hint emblematic
of former exuberance toward English
Language..., perhaps other once
vibrantly familiar tongues wagging
less as tempus fugit slithers unseen
stealing most cherished, prized, savored...
commodity set to countdown immediately
post parturition, yet blessed for thee
to be gifted your four score plus four
amazingly graceful journeys celebrating
your existence replete with handmaid's
tales chronicling quotidian trials and
tribulations, yet still adept, buoyant,
cogent, diligent, eloquent, fervent,
gallant, hellbent, intent, jimmying,
kindling, loving, mustering, nursing,
outlasting...Methuselah (ha...if only)
lucid moments nudging awake
memorialized occasions, where once
upon a time (seems bajillion years ago)
innocence concomitant with naivete
throve, wherein unfettered dalliances
found untrammeled lasses and lads
absorbed with natural unbridled virgin
love whispering sweet nothings strictly
for respective paramour, (this of course
hearsay and speculation) promising each
other moon and stars ah...dusty fading
memories, yours truly can never recount,
(cuz mental illness co-opted, hijacked,
up-ended...adolescent maturation,
whereby agonizing crippling forfeiture jabs
silhouetted illusory oasis peopled with
all the golden opportunities left to wither
on the vine o'mine youth, which mirage
mocks escapist attempt into literary realm
invisible dead poets society regale an
existence bereft (nope, no App could
ever even virtually duplicate (even
approximate) sidelined unrequited love,
and no this marriage yields scant
satisfaction, which fantasy life as
Norwegian bachelor farmer could solve,
where living off the grid could remedy
forever being pennilessness, day late
dollar short dime a dozen dirt poor
dude dulling dufus...that's the news from
my Lake Woebegone...where all the
women...and children above the law
never get reprimanded.
A boy all alone, with Binky in tow
In search of that place where the wild things grow
No compass in hand to say where to go
An innocent child would already know
He traveled by day and traveled by night
By the sun's red glow and the full moon's light
Bravely forged ahead with untrammeled sight
The sheer audacity of this lads plight
Over hill and dale, what progress he made
Determined he trudged over field and glade
Near the end of hope, the boy kneeled and prayed
Resting only now under forest shade
I want to stay here, teach me what you know
Please Lord, I have no other place to go
Now this child of four, Binky still in tow
Will live in the woods where the wild things grow