(a dating tale - told in Senryus)
She stayed the night, but
left before having coffee
- that was a bad sign.
He was charming but
negligible - an easy
habit to give up.
He watched her typing
bubble appear and vanish
there was his answer
His date-dar was bad,
she’d left-swiped him in real life,
ghosted like Banquo
.
.
A song for this:
Waiting for Kenny by a Sécurité
.
.
Banquo = One of Shakespeare's many ghosts.
TOKENS OF RECOGNITION
in
delicate
persuasive
discussion
give
negligible
differentials
momentum
remains
juxtaposed
in
genuine
radiance
expounded
dimension
interpreted
in
gestures
with
focussed
recipient
iconic
quotations
to
experience
&enable
isolate
ambitious
individuality
Yes I have balanced upon this rock
for 75, 85 years causing
negligible quantities
of soil to shift
Daily I wait patiently
on said surface at these familiar
co-ordinates, yet in my time
I visited 75, 85 territories of
the artificially boundaried surfaces
There was some growing, some striving
scant praying, scarce slaying
and my best claim my final
claim is to have left
no trace #pfft#
I promise you,
you are not alone
in your feelings—
the hollow ache
where they should be,
I feel it too—severed—
sundered from the mold,
a lotus flower wilting
in the dark.
Let grace root itself
in the negligible cracks—
let your light spill into the
fractures—
creating something
new and worthy.
there’s something comforting about being up at night when nobody is awake…it’s just me, alone with my thoughts. sometimes it can be lonely, but liberation is what i would most describe it as.
in the morning when everybody wakes up, i am the girl who makes people smile and talks incessantly about my negligible interests to anyone who will listen.
i am the girl who tries to come up with captivating words to say to be a part of something or stay in the conversation.
but at night, i can finally rest. i am alienated from the rest of the world, and am alone with my soul. i am pondering over my purpose in life and the meaning of it all— and i am at peace.
-c.e.
Found herself long in the tooth
Burdened with responsibilities
As the clock kept ticking
Being hospitable began to wane
Regardless of hope keeping in touch
Working harder had become symbolic
For she had a negligible threshold
That supremely played a crucial part
A part in soaking all the fitness up
Until she lost the spiritedness
Did all she accessed for the fruits
Bore all the affliction of misfortune
Spoke many languages to herself
Walked long miles wall-to-wall
But couldn't control her fate
This heightened sensivity was a sword
Double-edged through the feelings
At times sympathy was highly valuable
The blues discerned from the seeds
The high sensitivity to others' emotions
Amid such grief, she's into being mellow
Avoided and crossed numerous arrows
The Omniscient providing for her with pillow
Here comes the relief, there goes the sorrows
Behold, it's time for the land to remain fallow
"O blessed Java Sparrows mostly, the rare Opals then the plentiful Greys--palm frond squatters, and the ever so oft, Mejiro birds, a.k.a., the "Japanese White-Eyed," chartreuse bodied against the legendary red Lehua blossoms of the Ohia tree," ... by the Poet's House
Negligible motions, Java Sparrows,
haiku artisan, deep in thought, attends,
dawn break wings flapped--an idea narrows,
wake unassumed thoughtless emptied pretends.
Shelved packaged bird seeds feignedly addressed,
bird tray absence spilt seeds stretch, preached as well,
slight spread outwards, fashioned spawning impressed,
near and far, Meijiro's numbered midst swell.
Shunned Java Sparrows, aimless namesakes,
Meijiro's not pleased, their own--true Zero,
starved be-trayed craftsman sentiments opaques,
overburdened, labored--the birds, ditto!
Food fills the starving, and water quench thirst,
pleased chirps harmonize--receptive mind, versed.
The thing I look for,
That thing I become.
The perspective I carry,
On that road, I am buried.
The grave you fix for me,
In that place, I never return.
The proportion you hold for me,
Always be a negligible one.
The unquenchable thirst for intellect I possess,
The remarkable thing I want to hold for,
The gesture beneath my skin,
Are the debts in my river Life's stream.
The person I want you to be,
The heaven I look for,
The hell's gate I never opened,
Are the facts beyond my reach.
I cannot propel the paddle alone,
For this, I need someone to lean on,
Everybody needs someone to hold them back,
The journey I want to dodge is the journey I want to be done.
No words completely rhyme with orange:
no orange fringe, no orange hinge,
no lozenge, no syringe, no twinge, no whinge – no nothing!
No words completely rhyme with orange.
Porridge isn’t orange; but, there is an Orange Province.
An orange stoppage - should be red!
Incorrigible orange!
The rhymes I’ve tried are negligible, barely sensible.
Horrid orange!
Purple is no better.
There are purple turtles, slurping, burping,
and purple pebbles, purple burbles:
all sorts of purply, chirpy, twerpy sounds,
but, no words rhyme with purple.
Silver is another colour which hasn’t got a twinning brother.
There are silver rivers, silver shivers, silver slivers, silver sisters;
but, there are no silver dilver milver pilvers,
and if there were, they’d smell like fish.
I actually prefer the almost-chimes of assonance,
the vowels that that twine with consonants,
without the over-confidence of lar-dee-dar-dee rhymes.
The Russian refugees
When the war ended in 1945 and the German army
surrendered when the local Nazis were arrested
the whores had had their hair shorn; peace arrived
with stark poverty and need.
My mother got a newspaper round, and the pay was
negligible, but she got bags of old newspaper, pressed
looking like bricks and warming when autumn came
with cold evenings
On our rounds (I was my mother’s little helper) met
a Russian mother and daughter dressed in old clothes
on the way to a café that gave them leftovers, probably
the only meal for the day.
They were the flotsam of war and had ended up in
the backdoor of Europa, they spoke no local language
but individual people were kind to them and often
brought wood to warm their cold rooms.
When we met them, Mother waved and said hello
with a winning smile, they said hello also I think
this little gesture warmed their starved, lonely hearts
destitute as they were and far from home.
Home! Yes, in the end, it’s the place we all want to go.
Our specter of Death---misunderstood
our illusion of Life---doubtful at best
differences between the 2 are negligible
their insistence is more than true.
Birth begets a note of beginning
impermanence sets the tone for leaving
born both of guilt and latent innocuousness
life--a promissory note of relaxed reticence
all 'isms collide, faith vs knowledge vs wisdom
whether a natural illiterate or college born.
we own our own posthumous poetic license
believing fool hardy beliefs to faulty commiserance.
Step back, take stride in the power of a No Self
remove all falsehoods-place wisdom on your shelf.
The great replacement
Through the bird’s world came the call of a land of plenty
rives, mountains, lakes and plains place for everyone
Millions flew to this Paradise, but mostly sparrows settling
inland where the wild oats were plentiful
Vultures came, eradicated the local birds, and nothing left
but paintings of birds with colourful plumage.
Raven, the incurable thief, occupied coastal march land
to get powerful, stealing a wonderful feather at a time.
The eagle took position on the highest peak, aristocratic
showed, contempt for the lesser sparrows.
Until, a powerful, rich bird with flamboyant plumage
showed up and together, with the ravens, promised safety
for the lesser fowls and the negligible ones rejoiced they
didn’t know they were pawns in a much bigger power play.
Last evening, I noticed the Ohio River is sighing
As its waters flowed lazily toward the west,
I wondered if old rivers might fear their dying.
They tell me her fish are no good for frying,
Technology prevents her from reaching a crest
Last evening, I noticed the Ohio River is sighing.
As I sat resting along the bank, I felt like crying,
The view hindered by barges floating abreast
I wondered if old rivers might fear their dying.
I could see the pollution along her edges drying
Not in negligible amounts, too much is manifest,
Last evening, I noticed the Ohio River is sighing.
A few civic-minded folks who care keep trying
To clean up our waterways, doing their best,
I wondered if old rivers might fear their dying.
Tugs were anchored at the ship’s store buying
I wondered if the tugs ever take on a guest,
Last evening, I noticed the Ohio River is sighing
I wondered if old rivers might fear their dying.
Written April 4, 2022
submitted to Brian Strand's
Premier Poetry Contest
My poor heart aches as my mind cogitates
upon the deep desires of my dark soul,
and searching for profound truths that can be
expressed in mystic subtle syllables.
Alas such thoughts come at the worst of times.
I dream of them, elusive to extreme.
I wake and these abstractions spiral up
into nothingness of infinity,
ethereal concepts lost into space,
misty spectral reveries, brown studies
of doubtful natures, devious musings
of negligible earthly happenings.
All lost, unattainable conceptions,
leaving me spiritless limp and listless,
a ramekin of moronic despair,
riding a foamy crest of frustration.
Until my looking glass is tinted rose,
the black clouds break and faith is reassured.
Then I shall take up my pen and paper
and scribble all my endless worthless thoughts.
Alas that holy day is still to be.
You can now
never expunge me
banish me from
your view
delete me from
the way I
am the sentience
past and present
your decay
your debris.
I am blue skies
above you
frozen ground
below you
I own you
you are
inconsequential
irrelevant
negligible.
No, you can’t
expunge me
I refute you
I banish you
I delete you
your presence
is hereby
eliminated.
You are nothing
to me mere
dust blowing in
the wind
a frozen planet
I tossed around
for my amusement
I am the Alpha
and the Omega
baby.
I gorge on stars
eviscerate worlds
from my view
drain oceans
level mountains
you are puny
and that is
immutable
that is
irrefutable
so undeniable.
Gaze long
with dread into
the abyss that
is your pathetic
life
wail and cry
choke on the
reality that you
can never erase
me
ever retrace me
never replace me.
Dear chump,
it is you who
is expunged
now blow away
you are nothing
your presence is
no longer required
you are
dismissed.
(click on the pic to preview my book!)
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