Long Unwitting Poems
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..continued from Part 1:
Mass censorship
is sadly all pervasive
to the uninformed
and relative luxury
smitten blind,
A World view bubble,
Idolatry, Idiocracy
Creates all sorts
of trouble
Stems from all sorts of
unexplained places,
to the ill informed
Coupled with government sanctioned vaccinations, impressed upon
an uninformed majority unwitting general public,
recruited by their lowered-IQ peers,
to pass on a sedate
mocking nonchalance
Destruction under the guise
of Litigation,
The masses unaware, willful ignorance,
ad infinitum
Intention is from cause
And vice versa
Actions revealing
what they wish to conceal
Providing a hitherto
unseen, unfathomable
creeping sickness
by subversion, attrition
Autism in the young and healthy,
Alsymers in the would be wise
and ageing,
much earlier by design
Agenda driven, driving the sane insane
at an insidiously unnatural pace
to an untimely early demise,
of our own species,
Yet not the one percent
Elite disillusionment being
enforced and branded
upon the rest
Humanity as we know it
Entirety of mankind,
That we the human race
may know
and be
emancipated from
this tyranny though benign
Subdued and docile - does not maketh any man,
Artificially Intelligent
or otherwise
Of organic genuine wholesomeness,
this must take precedence
and contains the blueprints of better futures for all
Bar none
Wake up sheeple,
Do not be the children
of the Lie,
wake up now.
Kurt Hubbard-Beale
March 2019
The PoetTree
Awaken Poetry. Awareness Poetry. Geopolitical. Philosophical. Music. Shared
Just mooning
and buffooning
Covertly stepping behind the veil
Dancing and prancing under the new moon
Burning candles and chanting, leaving no trail
Dark, unscrupulous wishes coming soon
Now, laughing and frolicking under the full moon
When you should be wishing upon a star
Daytime you appear as an angel but when night falls, you're a goon
My, what a selfish, controlling parasite you are
Like a fisherman at his favorite pond
You insidiously cast your rod of malevolence into the night
Reeling in an unwitting victim's essence just for kicks and fun
The poor soul didn't even know he was in a fight
But this is no fun and games
The stark thirst for manipulation and control can be tragic
The Universe is watching and recording faces and names
Karma is the return to sender of black magic
The Wanderer, Part II
Awakening, the friendless man confronts the murky waves,
the seabirds bathing, broadening out their feathers,
the hoar-frost, harrowing hail & snow eternally falling…
Then his heart’s wounds seem all the heavier for the loss of his beloved lord.
Thus his sorrow is renewed,
remembrance of his lost kinsmen troubles his mind,
& he greets their ghosts with exclamations of joy, but they merely swim away.
The floating ones never tarry.
Thus care is renewed for the one whose weary spirit rides the waves.
Therefore I cannot think why, surveying this world,
my mind should not contemplate its darkness.
When I consider the lives of earls & their retainers,
how at a stroke they departed their halls, those mood-proud thanes!,
then I see how this middle-earth fails & falls, day after day…
Therefore no man becomes wise without his share of winters.
A wise man must be patient,
not hot-hearted, nor over-eager to speak,
nor weak-willed in battles & yet not reckless,
not unwitting nor wanting in forethought,
nor too greedy for gold & goods,
nor too fearful, nor too cheerful,
nor too hot, nor too mild,
nor too eager to boast before he’s thought things through.
A wise man forbears boastmaking
until, stout-hearted, his mind sure & his will strong,
he can read the road where his travels & travails take him.
The wise man grasps how ghastly life will be
when all the world’s wealth becomes waste,
even as middle-earth already is, in so many places
where walls stand weather-beaten by the wind,
crusted with cold rime, ruined dwellings snowbound,
wine-halls crumbling, their dead lords deprived of joy,
the once-hale host all perished beyond the walls.
Some war took, carried them off from their courses;
a bird bore one across the salt sea;
another the gray wolf delivered to Death;
one a sallow-cheeked earl buried in a bleak barrow.
Thus mankind’s Maker laid waste to Middle Earth,
until the works of the giants stood idle,
all eerily silenced, the former joys of their halls.”
Keywords/Tags: Anglo-Saxon, translation, Old English, wanderer, winter, ice, snow, frost, sea, ocean, seabirds, heart, heartbreak, loss, loneliness, alienation, sorrow, death, ghosts, dark, darkness, wise, wisdom, war, bird, birds, wolf, giants
I try to avoid them in the crisp morning light,
but I hastily sink into their mud-caked bottoms.
I sink to my knees in their inevitable stratum.
One after another, beyond memory or thought,
swirling pools of consciousness unspoken.
Parallel immersive mythos together and unbroken.
Heavy here, my trudge from pond to pond,
egoless consciousness watches with detachment.
My fledgling demanding acts are persistent.
My emotions are unwitting and hand-crafted.
These ponds of my making create schemas
from hormones and perceptual appraisals.
I plod through stages of deepening awareness.
From weeping to laughter, I feel each nuanced valence.
Though I try to resist them again and again,
these are my schemas, my reckoned inventions.
Like a roaming wolf or a squirrel poised in a tree,
these emotional appraisals are my intentions.
These spontaneously self-organizing feelings
are my defenses, and my epiphanies of universal marvel
as egoless consciousness awaits, unspoken.
Rumbling earth offers it's own baseline
Bones of the underworld crackle thunderously
Concussive forces driving Gaia's ecstasy.
The man watches as her eyes crackle menacingly
Mortal flirtations lusting for battle
Stone and Crystal, immense and fragile.
Booming, resonating, radiating, alive,
Conjured rumblings otherworldly
Each threaten alternately
To burst his chest
Or to implode it.
With each pulse, each soul-searing challenge of her gaze,
Every aching breath
Yet he remains, agonizingly still
And there is nought but to wait for her to move first.
It is a reaper's die cast in darkness
Uncalculated gamble of unwitting fortune
So he must wait.
Her almar might yet give a wary soul rest
Hiraeth, and hope.
Or unmercifully rend him hapless.
So lingers his being, languishing in exquisite agony
Hoping desperately, and rumbling as eldritch runes 'neath horrors unknown.
Have you ever considered
the many cases
where family albums
show strangers' faces?
Some of those faces
may well be your own
standing off in the background
apart and unknown
But don't take my word for it
See for yourself
Your album of strangers
is up on your shelf
There's your concert photo
with your best friend Zack
But who are those people
hanging 'round in the back?
You have no idea
and neither does he
But there they all are
for your family to see
I'm sure you have others
but one is enough
in proving my point
which you cannot rebuff
Imagine that maybe
in some obscure book
on a library shelf
where people will look
You've made an appearance
in a photograph there
and many have seen you
while you're unaware
Just an unwitting subject
in the camera's eye
captured forever
as you happened by
Out there in the world
I'm willing to bet
somewhere there's a family
perhaps in Tibet
Viewing their photos
of trips from afar
and they're wondering just
who the heck you are
You're standing right there
in plain sight of all
right next to their grandmother
Ling from Nepal
You took the same photo
with your companion
near Ling and her family
at The Grand Canyon
They're here in our pictures
as we are in theirs
All over the world
we're caught unawares
So, why do I ponder
this subject so deep?
Oh no reason really
I just couldn't sleep
3/1/19
When I first took up residence,
We were neighbours who kept to ourselves.
But I needed more room
Abundantly provided
Thanks to your unwitting generosity.
That's when your trouble started.
Those odd bouts of tiredness
You put down to overwork and stress.
All you needed was a holiday
Or so you were led to believe.
I was sorry about your little headaches
But I had to stretch myself still further.
Even beyond that point we were doing so well
Until you began seeing double.
That's when all hell broke loose
And they found you had an unwanted guest.
They tried to evict me
But I had burrowed deep
To keep you as my host.
Our symthanatic relationship
Means we must go together.
Apprenticed to enamoring aviary, Love's cerebral chords to refine
To interpret the alluring tones in each, captivating line
Overhead, a snow white dove in the pure light doth shine
Innocent libido's inhibitions to illumine
On silted ground, turtle doves in beautiful harmony fealty bine
Every silky neck strand in seamless congruence to twine
In enchanting Lilac tree, song birds in melodic chorus rhapsody pine
The titillating rhythms of amorous romance to define
On fibrous pulp, wood peckers their virile aspirations sign
Artfully tracing each groove on hull bared and supine
In golden pond, nubile swans in tantric dance align
With graceful movements gently stirring the foamy brine
Hovering , humming birds' wings vibrate o'er suckling vine
Then with salivating tongues on frothy nectar dine
At dusk, Nightingales' guttural groans in palpitating soliloquy whine
The moonbeam's enticing spell on unwitting lovers to assign
Ebony-caped crows bellow bewitching chants o'er listless ravine
Each ingratiated soul with lustful thoughts to incline
Stealthy hawk with piercing eyes each svelte fiber doth divine
Then with dexterous agility swoops down on silky ermine
Prologue
Abandoned and in disrepair the mansion
Is dark now; a story behind every stanchion.
An unwitting monument to a way of life,
Since foreclosed through bloody civil strife.
Antebellum
The hush of summer evenings cued the trilling
(Fiddled on hind legs accompanied by warty pouches)
Chorus; pierced only by the discordant creaking
Of unseen stairs rising to the house slave's quarters
Portending the disquiet of antebellum martyrs.
Wittiness trees attest in angles and chains
To the master's grid and shade the lanes
For the surrey whose wheels rutted the gateway
(Become artifacts) en route to soirées of gaiety.
The prairie land, violated by steel and condescension
To the roots of its towering grasses and purple gentian,
Forced to nourish seeds of an alien flora for hempen
Riches, patiently awaits its day of redemption.
Bricks of fertile earth fired over an Osage hearth,
By chattel hands, in mortise and tenons, gave birth
To a mansion at the prelude of a moral sea-change
That would divide the nation and break its chains.
Current Era
Their lives deprived of enslaved labor, the once-lived
Voices ebbed a little as each generation removed.
Shrouded in leaves of time they are a mute bequeath
Indelibly recorded upon the stories that lie beneath.
Dreamer boy speak for them now. Sing for bluestem that switched
Against the sky nourishing the thundering herds that provisioned
Native tribes. Rage for those hobbled to sow but never to reap,
Weep for a Nation gone mad and seeds planted too deep.
Reflections after touring an abandoned antebellum mansion.
Copyright Paul M Thomson September 2011.
Through frayed seams a rosy dream bleeds
needled and re-stitched
with threads of time and love and hope..
and still — a rosy dream bleeds
the miscarriage of a promised rose garden
leaving me bereft but for entwined bands of gold –
contemplative thorns tempt my angst
moony moody barbs bristle twigs of tenderness
sigh— it’s not a laurel wreath worn atop my brow
as I sit alone with a squeamish friend
my blue-sky-to-storm-cloud introspection —
as your distant eyes deserted mine long ago
Winter's beast laid bare a cerebral graveyard
lost you wander amongst laid-to-rest neurons
worn headstones of thoughts and laughter and memories…
you wonder why they hide — why they died
the crackle of cognitive circuitry quiets
branched-lightning fades from unwitting clouds
and aged roots of reality perish
our red rose finished fallen to pieces
you-and-me-petals a messy heap like old potpourri —
yet in dark’s hush love’s scent lingers on our dream pillow
Oh nostalgic sepals embrace me!
my heart yearns to return to the bud
to the fullness of our June bloom —
instead, I bury desires beneath life’s litterfall;
amid pollenless stamens and leaves of one-sided reveries
and cage my fear my despair behind purple thistle facing the light
as I free a smile for you, my love —
you my sun that still parts the rain-bearing nimbus