Long Wing and a prayer Poems
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An ingenious device is a basketball net:
Swish, swoosh, swoosh, swish---
Its sweet sound made
From a cager's wish. (A 'cager' is a basketball player)
Close your eyes; let your mind run free,
Picture the ball arching gracefully,
A round, rubber rainbow coursing through the air
Willing its way on a wing and a prayer.
Swish, swoosh, swish, swoosh:
One after another the balls pour on in.
Swoosh, swish, swoosh, swish;
The nets' cords snap,
Cagers high-fives slap.
Swish after swoosh,
Swoosh after swish:
The sweet sound made
From a cager's wish.
I moved onto the farm when I was eleven,
To the farm eroded of trees.
I’d stand on the hill in the middle of summer,
Unshaded in a blistering breeze.
Then the winter shook hands and my work it began,
Iron barrow, saplings, and a spade.
I planted, I nurtured, hundreds of trees,
Before I realised I’d been betrayed.
It took a plague of rabbits a week to destroy,
Every tree in my little plantation.
So I replanted each tree, surrounded with plastic,
In a war of land occupation.
Then the sheep we had, broke through a fence,
And devoured every little one.
Damn, new strategy, wire mesh for each,
The regrowth had, now, just begun.
Then a drought, “you’re kidding” every tree turned to dust,
Every tree I’d planted with care.
The drought broke when I was fifteen, so I replanted the hill,
Replanted on a wing and a prayer.
Now, thirty years since, you can’t see the hill anymore,
It’s blanketed by leaves on the trees.
You can now stand on the hill in the middle of summer,
Shaded with a cool, calm, comfortable breeze.
Across figurative and literal board...
mine hardscrabble existential debacle spelled losing game of trouble
Oft times, I experience wretchedness being alive
spurring wonderment whereby thoughts
of my demise doth drive
analogous to buzzfeeding bumbling bees
combing into their hive.
Giddiness prevailed
when coronavirus (COVID-19)
warranted quarantine to diminish
transmitting pandemic virus thru the air
lifestyle change no major imposition,
cuz yours truly already familiarized
with self isolation
courtesy his social anxiety despair
schizoid personality disorder the diagnosis
nsync with loathsome
body morphology toward self
viz mental health impasse a legitimate malady
impossible mission possibly
since in utero didst impair
minimally abetted courtesy
Buffalo wing and a prayer
wishful thinking only death can relieve
some recently approaching year.
Indifference toward self sums up story
viz mindset to whit
resignation to cash in chips
at a tender age, I did submit
evidenced courtesy abysmal grades
during stint as student
kindergarten and first grade the exception
earning appellation dummkopf or nitwit
showcased apathy to access ability and excel
overshadowed courtesy powerfully pointed outlook
within his bedroom at 324 Level Road
sequestered long haired pencil neck geeky hermit
four familiar walls constituted ambit.
Refuge sought vis a vis withdrawal
from world wide web
refusing sustenance (think anorexia nervosa),
thus these lovely bones withered away
thankfully mother (a licensed practical nurse)
of course intervened without delay
belated acknowledgement
regarding maternal love hip hip hooray
enrolling expertise of Doctor Ted Goldberg
at Collegeville Community counseling
to ameliorate psychological internal melee
running rampant and roughshod within me psyche
pushing self destruction down into stairway
entering portals of hell
analogous to Earthen bowels
deep within Zimbabwe.
Whether the above sentence incidental
to feeble attempt at reasonable rhyme
so please geography buffs pardon moi
add dull less cent delinquent puns
he did cashier plus
any unintended faux paus as aspiring poet
artfully crafts elaborated gimcrackery,
albeit impious kooky mishmashed
outlandish quirky s*it.
Across the roaring 40’s
I sail
I fly
She’s in a hurry
To reach out
That Southern land
Like a horse
That knows the way home
She bucks
She sways
Her cloth
Slides across the wind
Hell or high
I will make sure
We harbour
The leeward side
And the Jack tars will sing
Hey ho
Here we go boys
Hold your breeches
And heave ho
Hold ya breeches
And heave ho
With white knuckles
I hold that wheel
As helmsman
I fear breaching
I won’t let it go
The wind
She blows
The waves
They tower
Nothing will stop me
Heading Over
That rising sun
And the Jack tars will sing
Hey ho
Here we go boys
Hold you breeches
And heave ho
Hold ya breeches
And heave ho
Swinging through the rigging
I take me time
To set a working sail
Up here
With Albatross
And god
I ‘am sailing
Through time
On a wing and a prayer
And the Jack tars will sing
Hey ho
Here we go boys
Hold your breeches
And heave ho
Hold ya breeches
And heave ho
Land ho
The call is made
There she be
That Southern land
Soon we’ll be safe
For sure
Me mates
On the leeward side
We"ll harbour
And the jack tars will sing
Hey ho
Here we go boys
Hold your breeches
And heave ho
Hold ya breeches
And heave ho
An incredible journey, a delightful insight,
Performing under the big top,
Flying through air, on a wing and a prayer,
Hanging just like a plumb bob,
And the tent is in black, all lights are on you,
Dressed in your leather costume,
Every eye in the house cradles your frame,
Hoping you don’t fall to your doom,
But you manage to fly, with invisible truth,
You manage to belong in the air,
Growing your wings where wings shouldn’t be,
Holding hands with someone upstairs,
And the crowd, well they don’t believe what they saw,
The crowd you know you’ve deceived,
Because the applause is enormous, bigger than big,
For you, on the Flying Trapeze.
Bird in a guilded cage, a broken heart, a solitary soul
Road less travelled, a soul full of longing, my heart bleeds
On a wing and a prayer, my heart is a lonely hunter, a weary soul
Kiss the rose, look into my eyes
Endless words, my heart laid bare
No man is an island, tears fall like rain
Words that were left unspoken, over and over again
It's never too late to change, wish upon a star
Near and dear to my heart, when all is said and done
Give it a whirl, as time passes by, my soul is weeping, weeping
Stop and smell the roses, till the end of time
______________________________
May 9, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Cliches/"Broken Wings"
Copyright Protected, ID 05-671-486-09
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Some are smooth, as smooth as a song,
While others are spiked like a boot,
And some are ripe, ready for now,
Ripe as a plump freshly picked fruit.
Some are mounds of a hill full of beauty,
While a few are as flat as a bat,
And a couple, here and there, are all over the shop,
Sort of a wild bric a brac.
Some poke right out for everyone to see,
No user manual needed there,
While others are hidden nowhere to be seen,
Only found on a wing and a prayer.
But all of them make me feel happy and free,
As free as a bird in the sky.
I love every one, each colourful joy,
I love every newly born butterfly.
Trevor Jed Engelson Unwittingly...
launched Meghan Markle into royalty
American divorcee
catapulted from “AA” to “Zed”
at break neck speed, and with cachet wed
Prince Harry, and soon
twill begetting, bestowing,
and bewitching her
chromo somal thread
(complementing, furthering, and
weaving together "Quod Erat
Demonstrandum", or QED
for short) within United Kingdom
coat of arms, perhaps
naming the first heir Ned,
and according one online
dictionary definition and ken
translates as French
(Old English) name Eadmund,
meaning rich or happy,
and protective akin
to a mother hen,
not just mollycoddling
hatchlings, but even
shelling out care
on a wing and a prayer
long after offspring
fly the coop and been
fending for themselves,
perhaps merely earning
chicken scratch wage,
assigning doomed fate,
sans cooked usage
if perchance "chick(s)"
go thru a foul stage
within their duff
fenceless hierarchy,
where pecking order doth rage
worse case scenario, would presage
finding errant peep(s)
sent to gaol,
not much bigger than a bird cage,
unless they comprise
noble henny age,
ideally taken in as a pet
by newly bridled
Duchess of Sussex
treated like totally
tubularly true blue blood
with opulent accommodations
(cheaply) tricked out
with life size Tyrannosaurus Rex
(spoiler alert: actually done
with special effe Hex
with latest computer graphics
showing rippling reptiles flex
sing and holo
graphic smoky mirrors)
intending "FAKE"
balances and checks
to boondoggle aggressive paparazzi,
one of whom includes
Meghan Markle's ex.
Not perfect am I
Age shows in my eye
Yet at times I'm still a child
Other times something less mild
Not where I hoped I would be
Oh but the things I did see
Then again
Further from where I was back when
Not all my dreams are set
But I'm not through dreaming yet
Temper may sometimes fly
Other times I may cry
No reason why
Grateful for the years,.
Even the tears
Everything I have been through on my way to now
Times though, don't know how
I'm still alive
Sometimes life don't jive
Wing and a prayer maybe
times I couldn't see
But here I be
Stronger for my journey
Here
Embracing the pain the fear
This time comes the happy tear
Breathe in, breathe out, gasp in the air,
Both feet drumming along on the ground,
She blindly runs from what became hell,
Runs from what she had found,
From years of rage, screaming and hate,
From the torment hidden inside,
She runs on the path to escape from it all,
Doing whatever’s required,
Then her mind slips and tumbles, falls to the edge,
Cascades like a river in air,
It lifts and floats through the mist of the fall,
She flies on a wing and a prayer,
And both of her wings sprout out from her side,
Her mind, now free, takes to flight,
And begins again in a world without hurt,
Now she’s run straight into the light.