Long Unusually Poems
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Almost all of us will face -at one time or another -
Dire circumstances dragging us into a deluge of misery.
Eluding woe is not an easy thing to do.
Less so for those quite disabled or born into extreme poverty.
Unless we are unusually lucky,
Grief will come and often as a gush engulfing us.
Enduring pain is mankind’s destiny.
Curtailing pain and sorrow, however, is
Our ultimate boon.
Multitudes of us each day see misfortune come our way.
Entirely expelling it is not God’s plan.
Surviving well, with faith and positivity, we learn empathy; we grow!
Written Sept. 1, 2016
Entered now for Brian Strand's 'COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (9)any form any theme' Poetry Contest
Alice in Unreality Land
Tweedle Dee was acting frivolously dumb,
Whilst Mock Turtle’s face sullen and glum.
Not unusually White Rabbit was late,
Alice grew large compressed in a gate.
Absent minded Dodo, helpful so polite,
Gryphon has wings but cannot take flight.
A Cat from Cheshire grinning ear to ear,
The Queen has a King, so kindly my dear.
Remover of Monsters our Lizard man Bill,
Caterpillar smokes Hookah with obstinate will.
March Hare so ridiculous, loudly insane,
Dozy Dormouse in Teapot doesn’t complain.
Unbirthday parties of a Hatter so mad,
Duchess is curious, neither good nor bad.
Lewis Carroll wrote a surreal world of confusion,
A curiosity tale filled of unreality and illusion.
Written 8.10.18
She muddles an unusually warm December
dark drooling deep afternoon
Drizzly wait,
not long before her hungry needy kids return from school,
recomposing herself against a grey back porch wall
Knees up,
peering out
listening for wonder
How her life is the same,
and different,
compared to her backyard river
flowing surely and widely
but silently south
while a raucous river of cars in front
shuttle up and down self-stated highway's over-fueled Advent
of relentless unholyday traffic
Punctuated
with rambunctious horn blasts,
or perhaps warmly intended "Hello"s,
"Just passing by...."
EarthJustice passing
water toward southerly Sound,
carbon-eaters to her back
across a dusky front yard Advent
of early evening's commercial family business,
industry,
institutions for competing corporate commodification
flowing toward stealthy syncopated impatience,
and then by-passing away.
By-passing,
messiah's mass faltering
to sing in her faithful
but worn thin heart and hair,
hoping her river loves co-redemptive Sounding ocean
even more than busy motor air
surging through more urgent toxic time
investment to completely commercialize
UnBirthing Wonder's purgative sacred flow
into therapeutic nature.
Flow,
transubstantiating home and families
into consumer markets
floating down her river of mid-December's discontent
with waiting.
Discontent,
gloaming river fog
Spreading miraculously radiant
around one uninvited yellow street light
waiting for her family's magic blue bus
delivering this December night's
transforming rebirth.
ACTUALITY
so remote
distinction
between
appearance &
where
reality
exists
illumed
self-assertive
yet fallible
by
mutual suspicion
insecurity
&petty
appearance
but
unusually
interactive
&
motivated
focused
&purposed
perspective
with the idea
of
love
in
relationship
so very real
with a sense
denial of self
capable
of
genuinely
telling
&
portraying
a life
free to be
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
My husband and I were newly wed and cash poor. It was Easter weekend and the weather unusually fine for the time of year. Both loving the outdoors, we decided to cycle, circumnavigating our county over three nights. We traversed hill and dale, intoxicated by the beauty of the landscape. But late on the Saturday evening, just as Joseph and Mary had found on Christmas eve, every lodging was booked out for the festival. Locals eventually directed us to the abode of two elderly sisters, long retired from running a boarding house. As darkness was falling, they took us in. So weary was I, the bed felt as soft as eiderdown. A blessed sleep descended immediately. Before retiring, the sisters mentioned they would both be up at dawn, as always on Easter Sunday, to watch the sun dance with joy to see Our Lord rise again.
rising with the sun
those wishing to see it dance
on easter morn
Under the gloomy sky, anybody pass by
The overcast cloud hid the first light
Last night rain left the damp tan lawn
Bare trees remain in the dormant dawn
The wild doves unusually stay silent
The chickadees calmly leap on branch
While sparrows pick fresh buds on canes
Do they fear the earthquake shocks again?
On the walkway, the California quails stroll
They replace the morning student’s role
While boys and girls stay safe at home
With their family, tune in the news to roam
Follow up the Covid-19 pandemic numbers
The death tolls from the Earth’s corners
Or maybe it’s the end of our humankind?
Is there a process this virus can be confined?
Shimmering light
The lily pond
The music of your eye
The touch of your arm
Your always honey smell.
I love.
Rustling trees in a row,
A wide green lawn;
People stoop to see small flowers.
A snail on the path.
The perfecton of the shell.
I believe
Unusually tall dandelions
at the edge of this wood
Wave in the warm west wind.
We smile.
Sitting pen in hand
I wonder what I would have written
In all the letters I've not sent you.
Far away on the Ridgeway,
Cars,seem small as ants,
Rush towards the motorway.
They make us laugh.
How green the meadows are
How fresh the old trees.
I gaze at you.
I find I am.
It's mutual.
I thank you.
She's the enemy to whom I've yet to be
Formally introduced --
Her sites set on my
Tennis bracelet or clutch...
She glowers.
There's something off about her hair
It's color strange and unreasonable.
She dons a skirt too short
And tight for one her age --
My age.
Her colors loud and far too bold
For this town.
She stares me down like I would flinch,
As though intimidating me would be an
Easy job.
Here's what we can't tell:
She's a child of the Bronx.
A survivor.
It will take much more than
Undivided attention
To cause cowering.
Don't force it.
She despises on principle
Though of which one I'm uncertain...
Probably doesn't like that
We are of the same stage in life
Relatively
And unusually surrounded on
This subway
By a majority who happen
To be of approximately
The same range, age-wise.
Not the usual youth of Beantown
Who seem to own this city
(Or think they do)
Transplants from other locales
Here for educations
Or jobs, or beer,
Or whatever opportunities come their way
To seize upon and take from us.
Why are we not on the same side?
These rides serve no
Purpose other than
Perhaps to bear witness to still lives
And words set upon portable devices --
Commutes and communions
Of little consequence
Other than the fact that
Moving through space and time
Reminds us that we're still
Alive.
Form:
driving on a day off during the week
to a park that is unusually uncrowded
waterfront with a man lunch and a man
size drink
i am also off the next day and that makes
me smile even more
the only missing part is my working significant
other
i pull up a song called ebony and ivory on my
phone and cool out on this nice fall day
the sun is taking a break, but so is the rain
the only other person here is now leaving and
i am all by myself
instead of wishing for more days like this,
i thank God the the Beautiful Blessing of This One
there are those who are not healthy enough to feel this feeling
therefore i rejoice in the depths of the Gift of The Ability To Do So
for one day it could be me
He grabbed me up from where I lay, peaceful in the sun,
with my brothers and my sisters round about me.
I felt four digits seeming to be one of a whole,
which clasped around my form.
A fifth one, slightly broader, pressed onto me from my other side.
And then with a jolt, I found myself next lifted high into air,
the dry hot bed beneath me but a whisper of my past.
Accustomed, at the most, to being trodden upon,
I barely had the time to assimilate this rare experience
(I seemed to remember a sweeter touch long ago
from a smaller being who had picked me up,
examined me and then placed me back on the ground).
Suddenly, I was moving, this time unsupported, through the air.
I spied in a single spinning moment
a world I’d not envisioned from the spot on earth
I'd shared with pebble siblings.
In that place, we were surrounded
by greenery that blocked our view
and by giant old gray boulders, my ancestors perhaps.
Reposing heavily as if attached to land,
one such silent sentry supported him,
the creature who had flung me far from my home.
I found myself then bump, bump, bumping along,
making little rings across a shiny stretch of blue.
And when I lost momentum,
I disappeared beneath the final circle I’d created.
It felt much like the times I had been buried in cold whiteness,
but this instead was liquid cool!
I dropped down and down,
onto a different kind of ground, unusually soft and sticky,
the way earth used to feel for me after a sudden downpour.
Settled there, I noticed brown and silver shapes
that flitted past above me, much smaller
than many of the creatures of the land above me, but swifter.
Also there were tall green blades that swayed in place.
They resembled those that stood on solid ground.
Best of all, I saw around me others of my kind;
a multitude of us, small, beautiful and round,
with whom to share my soft new cozy bed!