By way of explanation, I recently met Sherry Meinbert, the author of the children's book called "The Cockroach Invasion". I read that book, which I found to be entertaining and educational. Being inspired, what did I do? As you might imagine, I wrote some childish rhymes. I'm not sure the last couplet lands quite right, so I tried some alternatives.
The roach has always left me in disgust,
At the very least, I was nonplussed.
Enter, our own Doctor Sherry,
and a story so extraordinary,
ever since I heard her name,
I'll never look at a roach the same.
the cockroach I would once revile,
I now greet with a friendly smile.
the cockroach I stamped with my feet,
I would now kindly offer a fluffy seat.
now, the worst creature to ever crawl
is not such a bad guy after all.
Now, when I think of that ghastly bug,
I want to give it a great big hug.
I think, for each purpose and intent,
a roach should probably be president.
A simple explanation for the ones
who speak in complexities as if they
can know the universal rhyme of suns
in the cosmic poem of endless play,
never comprehending that in romance
of stars we are the offspring of stardust,
shaken loose at creation and perchance
becoming Earth and becoming nonplussed,
grasping then how small in the marvelous
plan of endless making and unmaking~
design and designer, the artfulness
of intelligence awakening.
The simplicity is this~
we know, we are, we become.
The sands of entropy in chaotic times,
settle on the shelf of the disorganized life.
In moments wafting with the dispersed dust,
the truth of belief in turmoil oscillates
in the ruffling surge of mayhem.
In the efflux of errant disarray,
everything changes in nonplussed instants.
The mystifying alchemy of metamorphosis
reveals the real façade of intuition,
reflectively masked.
In the squall of divesting consternation,
the disheveled mind in a state of confusion
splinters the leitmotif of emotions.
The confounded cascade of disquiet
drifts them to the misty oblivion.
Yet, when the palace of sands
on the shore of yearning tumbles down,
the psychic waves of feelings
break with the tune of fading ecstasy,
composing the music for the memory,
partly cloudy.
My young nephew asked
"What do you want for Christmas, Uncle Jim?"
I smiled at his innocent face;
life seemed so easy for him.
My answer left him nonplussed
and rather perplexed.
He looked at me in wonder,
waiting for a punchline to come next.
I did not mention material goods,
or treats or anything tactile.
It's a gift, I said, that I've been praying for
a long, long while.
I think about it often;
it is not some caprice.
What do I want for Christmas?
Just one thing: peace.
Peace for everyone,
not just in Ukraine, Gaza and Sudan,
but peace for all humankind
here at home and in every land.
Yes, I know it sounds naïve
but I refuse to give up hope.
I know what people can achieve
and so often all it takes
is the will to believe.
Thanatos granted him a morbid dream in overdrive
the grim reaper at first in the distance of slumber
quietly wielded a blunt axe in dendritic surprise
as if to prolong agony and awakening of the slaughter
both victim and perpetrator of his unwilling demise
he did not put up much of a fight or resistance
knowing full well that meaning might come on arousal
in the shadows maybe but still coherent and lucidly clear
it was not unpleasant no anger fear nor resentment
more nonplussed and startling in surrender and disguise
the end is near he conceded in rational anticipation
the only question being which final conclusion to make
Knowing the truth of Christmas gifts’ what’s what,
He tells Santa, I’ve nothing what so sought,
Forget all my wish list,
Let me now clear some mist:
I’ll be thankful, whatso you give, or not.
__________________
Happenings |14.01.2025| Christmas, humour
Poet’s note: This is a sequel to ‘Christmas gifts’. Realizing the futility of hoping to get things from his wish list, Dennis has this to say to old Santa when his turn came. No need to say, Santa was nonplussed.
So many speak of ‘our democracy’
though it seems representatives resent us
They blithely vote for their party’s agenda
then when questioned, they act nonplussed
We keep electing the same ones over and over
the familiar’s more comfortable than the unknown
So much ‘for the people’ in ‘our democracy’
~ who don’t really deserve it, you see
Hungarious herbanamed hairchinned humanoid!
This tungstanesk triumph – to some thanatoid…
Mathematicos marvel: mention “nontotiet!”
But Basil-based bullters bothered? Outbleat???
For functioning fully at family functions,
requires restrained raconteurial unctions.
Propensities/properties you outpossess.
injurious idiot’s ill-conceived jest…
No! Never negating nine-tenths of nonplussed,
because Basil-boy, your bingeworthy bust,
should stand sentry in stone for descendants yet born,
And for you to admire, while mowing the lawn.
Guinevere
Was King Arthur's darling dear,
Once day, she said, "I'm sorry M'Lord,
I gave your nephew, Mordred, your sword".
Mordred was not a man one should entrust.
King Arthur was a bit more than nonplussed.
Guinevere said, "Don't sweat it",
But the king would regret it,
As the weasel dispatched him with a thrust.
The Knights of the Round Table all missed him and cried -
Were Lancelot and Guinivere sorry he died?
Well, Sir Lance furrowed his handsome brow, and said "heck,
We should legislate a sword control background check."
The disordered sands of entropy,
churned by the wheel of chaotic time,
settle on the stratified shelf of the disorganized life.
In moments moving with perturbed dispersed dust,
the truth of trust oscillates in tumult
on the ruffling ripples of mayhem.
In the bewildered efflux of errant disarray,
everything rumpled changes in nonplussed instants,
except for the notion of change.
The mystifying alchemy of metamorphosis
reveals the real façade fragile
of the perplexing psychic transformation.
In the baffling squall of divesting dismay,
my mind disheveled in befuddled moments
into a dishabille state of confusion,
splinters the leitmotif of the embedded emotions.
The confounded cascade of consternation
carries them away to the abyss of oblivion.
Yet, when my castle of sand on the shore of yearning
tumbles down in a clutter of dispersed debris,
in its disorientation I discover discombobulated
the emotive flute of dormant feelings,
play the tune of unfazed ecstasy,
making the lucid music of mystique memory.
May we be blessed to understand
there are times in our life
when we may feel bewildered and nonplussed….
when we might not choose silence
but silence chooses us.
Prison Of Flesh
Pregnant and constipated
Gagged
Asphyxiated
Want to jump out of my skin
Nonplussed and exasperated
Black bagged
Unenumerated
Everything is without
And I am locked within
To see the unknown is to grasp the strange
struggle with hallucinogenic disbelief of the deranged:
To arrange and rearrange the disarray of a mind
nonplussed by a puzzlement of imagery that binds
one in loops of madness bound by the optic nerve’s
impulses pulsating upon the high seas where red curved
like the waves that swerved my dehydrated inebriation
as they distorted my auricular balance into a drunk vermilion….
She’s appeared only at sea, always in striking shades of scarlet,
as if to break the monotony of endless boring-blue ~ a starlet
eclipsing my dilated pupils when she bled the moon,
slicing off a smooth round piece, as I, in my cabin cocoon
gaped thru the port hole at the bleeding sickle left
suspended, animated, tween the midnight and dawn ~ swept
into the black hole that fell into the dark’s abyss:
an oceanic psychedelic trip of a brain reeling remiss…
The glitter in the velvet dissolved into the ebon nothing
The wind no more, as infinite jet swallowed frothing
And there, not ten yards away, floated the cerise ball!
I rubbed my dozing orbs, but still, I was in lunar’s thrall
(3/15/2018 Repost for sailing contest)
I think I’ve written some doggone good stuff
Hey, I am sorry if, for you, it wasn’t enough,
Submitting it was sometimes an afterthought
Because my skin is thick, your N/A was for naught,
I write my poems for me, and I can happily say
I’ve already had my joy long before your “nay!”
I am nonplussed when your choices seem biased
But then, who am I to second-guess your highest?
I admit, when your winner does miss the mark
I wonder why my entry apparently did not spark,
I am taken aback by a lack of judging credentials
Your seeming ignor-ance of absolute essentials,
Realizing entering is seeking only one person’s nod
Please do not think your opinion is the ultimate god,
And be as fair as you can be when selecting who
Writes the best piece and deserves a Woo-Hoo!
In closing, let me say I thoroughly enjoy contests
But love them most when my poem is the best!
Written July 23, 2022
[A fun poke at our contest sponsors!]
It’s definitely maybe possible
that she hated to love me so much
Her affection found everything missing
—and distressed her elation nonplussed
(Dreamsleep: July, 2022)
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