Long Wrecked Poems
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The age-old dream is a nightmare,
that has haunted us far too long,
still it lures in so many souls
with the sweetness of its song.
But beyond the simple melody
a darkness quickly appears,
those who preach of utopia
are the ones we should most fear.
It all starts out pleasant enough,
they want to build the perfect world,
with peace, love, and prosperity,
for every single boy and girl.
But on what defines perfection,
the can never truly agree,
tell them it’s abstract idea,
and they scream out ‘heresy!’
Not that this will stop the push,
they’re convinced that they’re right,
and any who would oppose them,
are an evil and a blight.
First it’s campaigns to convince
that they hold the greatest truth,
then to the schools for targeting
the dumb, impressionable youth.
They think that this will do the job,
but too many reject and dismiss,
then comes all the social pressure,
go along or you’re not ‘with it.’
And when even that doesn’t prevail,
they always turn to government,
use law to force you to agree,
or face a long imprisonment.
This becomes the tipping point,
since government is always force,
yet convinced they’ll bring perfection,
they’ll do what was once abhorred.
Some penalties put you in camps,
doomed to a miserable fate,
no longer do you just ‘disagree,’
you’re now enemy of the state.
It does not take much to see this,
such an endless, brutal trend,
Hitler’s ‘perfect’ Aryan Reich
sent ten million to their end.
And all those workers ‘paradises,’
their purges and class enemies,
Sent a hundred million folk to death,
to build their ‘ideal’ societies.
Even down on the smaller scale,
the same result you will find,
Jamestown, Heaven’s Gate, and Waco;
where people were burned alive.
How many would still be with us,
how many fewer would be dead,
if we could take utopia
and drive it clear out of our heads?
In fact the very word itself,
if you look back on history,
literally translates as ‘no place,’
in the original Greek.
As in no place can ever exist
where mankind lives perfect,
Better is the best we can do
without leaving people wrecked.
Best we keep shouting this truth out
before we all tumble and fall,
We must fear, fear utopia,
or else it will kill us all.
Our land of stars and stripes, now glows,
with screens that flicker in hallowed halls.
Entranced humans shuffle, with eyes fixed below,
on small gadgets that have us enthralled.
Should the Statue of Liberty, our symbolic girl,
be holding a smartphone up to the world?
While tweets fly like eagles and hashtags swirl,
foreign disinformation trends as fast as it’s purled.
In lunch halls, real conversations take rest,
as influence is sought—in hoity-toity, binary quest.
Friends are backdrops—originality in short supply
as likes and shares make our dopamine fly.
America’s zombies, though *********** drained,
shuffle endlessly on, with Wi-Fi stimulated brains.
Once the land of the free, we’re now the land of tech
with minds wrecked by truths unchecked.
As we rock and sway—the new robot way—
will our old, analog-republic simply fade away?
.
.
Songs for this:
Airhead by Thomas Dolby
.
Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_01.mp3
If there’s no god, why show respect
for pain that’s felt by an insect,
for doesn’t that in part deflect
from order’s natural select
which did from soup somehow infect,
cajole or otherwise confect
life as we know it, and inject
complexity, until bedecked,
upon the scene comes Man, erect?
A pain-free god’s what you expect?
It seems creation's architect
is oft accused by means direct
(an argument they resurrect),
of child abuse, pain and neglect,
a charge to which I must object.
Though I'm not needed to protect,
still neither shall this go unchecked.
Although I mean no disrespect,
I think when one is circumspect,
allows not logic to defect,
to fancy, does not genuflect,
and stops carefully to reflect,
they, too, will see the disconnect.
For when they do, I do suspect,
unwittingly, Godhead bisect
(it's rare, if I may interject,
that they might attempt to trisect),
considering not, in effect,
that though there are three intellects,
their wills, communal, intersect,
their overlap complete, correct.
Now you may ask what this affects,
but what it means is all aspects
of common will and dialect,
are locked in a direct connect,
such that when one of them elects
to carry out a plan perfect,
none are diminished, none henpecked,
nor subject to a misdirect,
nor actions that might disaffect,
nor any sovereign state rejects
(hence child abuse notions are wrecked).
I have the scriptures to inspect;
in these I cannot recollect
attempts from truth to redirect,
so I eject as incorrect
the notion that God did elect
to avoid pain, to disinfect,
but rather, chose pain to connect
with life, with us, and with respect,
through Christ, and not in retrospect.
Unwelcomed Visitor
If Jesus came to see you
Would you open up the door?
Or would you hope He didn't see you
As you crouched there on the floor?
Would you recognize our Saviour?
If He came to you today?
Would you run in joy to greet Him?
Or send Him far away?
Do you hear Him in the shadows?
When He speaks in gentle rain.
When sleep and rest illude you,
And your heart is wrecked with pain?
He is calling, hands extended
Take His hand and feel is touch.
He holds what you are seeking
And He loves you oh so much!
If Jesus came to see you,
Would you answer when He calls?
He is waiting there to help you
He will catch you when you fall.
Through long years he stands there waiting.
Just accept his healing touch.
No one else provides the answers
And He loves you oh so much.
When she stepped up to hold my hand, pale faced,
something to tell me, I needed to know,
three words 'I love you' now had been replaced
with 'I am pregnant', plus a bump to show.
My mind and heart and soul all took long strides
in seconds from my youth to fatherhood,
the conflict of emotions felt inside
tempered by promises of something good.
We shopped and browsed for baby clothes and toys,
not thinking about pink or powder blue,
she felt a bonny girl, I wished for boy,
but healthy, really, either one would do.
The answer came, crying, after midnight,
one January, nineteen eighty-eight,
five pounds eight ounces, mother held her tight,
time stopped, we lived for now, future could wait.
In retrospect, I wish the future had-
it brought presents which I did not expect,
like bitterness and pain, daughter and dad
now torn asunder, all foundations wrecked.
Nine years since we last spoke, I do recall,
pinholes where photos hung upon the wall.
For contest 'Joys and tears of being an expectant parent', sponsor Olive Eloisa Guillermo.
15th July 2018
1. Aztecs-black sun. The eternity of souls.
2. Five stages of an eclipse.
3.Total eclipse-3 minutes. Deep twilight.
4. The moon has a temporary crown (corona) that celebrates its victory.
5. Viewed from predestined location
6. A fated portent by the ancients.
7. A natural phenonoma in the present.
8. Next in north and South America, also Pacific in July 2019
Looter Eclipse
When darkness turns the day to night
The triumphant moon bedecks its glittery crown
Feeding upon the ancients fear of doom and gloom
Their dread of harvests wrecked with troubled soul
A daytime moon that mocked their sacrificial rites
With cursed prediction for ill fated times ahead
Punished by the idols of the time
For some iniquitous crime to languish in dire Hades
Secured the time and place of modern solar eclipse
The throng awaits with polymer shades adorned
Amid a gleeful buzz of expectation
To view the phenomena of sun obscured
And loyally watch its five stages
When day becomes a dusky shade
In matter of fact observation
Ill portents dismissed and banished
They see the crown upon its lunar head
But not the sneak thief upon the ground
Who rifles pockets, loots their bags
The eclipse’s glory takes its place
And he escapes with all their booty
In portended fate of dire acclaim
parched buds
in
shriveled sapling
dismally desolate
bloom dreams
of
desiccated dunes
where
aureate sun
masks mirage
chased elusively
by
scorched life
to
opalescent oasis
but
ending up
in
staking recess
of
capricious illusion
where
dreams demolish
in
deranged debris
of
castle of cards
collapsing confounded
in
desert sands
of
destiny adrift
rootless vagabond
wanders in wasteland
of
wrecked aspiration
mentally morphs
subtly shapeshifts
to
clandestinely contour
a lone player
of
puppet recital
showcasing artistically
panorama of life
articulately abstract
performed to perfection
to
delusive dictum
of
stringed freedom
enjoyed intangibly
in
artificial act
persuasively axiomatic
of
lingering life
perfected within
psychic sanctum
of
patience instilled
by
possessed passion
to
perform entranced
in sonata
of
serenading soul
What did I do,
Quite the disaster, but if only they knew
The depth of the hole I find myself in,
Thank goodness ambition is no mortal sin.
I seriously thought this thing would be fast,
A simple invasion, a side show, a blast,
Over by dinner then pop the Champagne,
Ukraine by name only, Russia’s domain.
Never the thought came into my head
That a little B actor would play me instead,
Tenacious and cunning he's proven to be
But if chess is the game, good luck playing me.
The West struts its stuff, more noise than effect,
A mish mash of junk all easily wrecked,
Perhaps they forget the Russian resolve,
Stay tuned for a while and watch it evolve.
Ukraine is no match for what we can do,
Time our best friend and that's always been true,
We're patient and hardy, impervious to pain,
We'll suffer and bleed for what's ours to gain.
Don't read me wrong I want this to end,
I'm just very careful which message I send,
At the end of the day I'll make a tough deal,
And a big swath of land I'll invariably steal.
Ukraine won't be happy, the West will cry foul,
But don't be impressed, it's merely a howl,
A little play acting for show and effect,
As for this to continue they clearly all dread.
Ignore the odd glitches it's the outcome that counts,
This hasn't been pretty, a truth with few doubts,
But often what shines is merely fool’s gold,
Land is the key and Ukraine’s I will hold.
"There may be similar adversities, events beyond our control, that could come to our life and we can have different reactions, such as disbelief, anger, fear or acceptance, calm with hope it will be all right."
~~~ Quote By Poet~~~
You have been around for two years
How much longer would you be here?
I remember we were frantic,
we were shocked, in total panic
when you invaded six households,
for you were raging, uncontrolled
that two died out of the twenty
you infected, left us empty.
That was January, last year;
you terrified me, bringing fear
with so much great intensity
paralyzing my sensory
on my visits to my mother,
who was dying in my brother’s
house, where seven you infected.
I was so scared, I was a wrecked.
Seven weeks ago, you came back
hitting my household, you attacked
my son and I; but I was calm.
You were vicious, I had no qualms
to get rid of you, fighting you.
Yes, I was face to face with you
for weeks through my afflicted son.
Kept calm till you left my loved one.
1/17/22 C Form - Couplet Poetry
Constance La France
Used: PS Grammar
How Many Syllables (8 per line/8 lines)
RhymeZone
You represents Covid
THERE IS NO OTHER WAY
The wings spread wide apart
I fly aimless in the turbulent air
Over the faded shadow you don’t define.
I fly in the embrace of gathering storm clouds
The silver lines disappear in the grey trail
Where I see the birth of rain drops
In the shattered sky that falls
Like tears in the dark night.
My tired wings become heavy
Can’t flutter any more
I drift like destemmed dry leaf
In the gale of the surging storm
Get sucked in the centre of its eye
Makes my eyes visionless opaque
Can't see though time and space
I spin in the storm vortex
Get lost in the depth of depression
Dreams break, hopes splinter
The shards of wrecked mind are blown away
In agony I close my wings
The gust takes me to the horizon of no return.
That is when after the storm-torn night
The dawn breaks in colored splendor
I see the sun rise with my God
The shine enters my soul with bliss
I find my wings unfold
And in the freedom of inner sky I fly again
Now toward the singularity sun
Transmitting the warmth of eternal peace
I fly within to lie on the arms of God
For there is no other way
For this is the only way
To fly in life.
(Om Shanti, Om Shanti)
Written : February 4, 2018
Contest : Brian's Choice 9, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand