O, dear poetry, how old are you?
give me a glimpse, The Story of Sinuhe
the art just might predate literacy,
before the birth of the written word, BCE
Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor the eldest fictious
the Epic of Gilgamesh on papyrus
the world’s oldest love poems, verselets
Homer’s ancient epics
Compositions made for spoken word
I finally found out from all I’ve heard
what my dear poetry means to me
the love of artistic lyrical spontaneity
learning of words using them expressively
or impressively, excessively, whatever it takes
with poetic license, there are no mistakes
Works that lead to electric elucidation
with rhythmic flow, meter and alliteration
my primo priority is; my poem pieces make sense,
with rhyme and my love for classic cadence
having the quality of amatory ambiguity,
steered adrift with ominous obscurity
strapping images of suggestive metaphors
I’ll write to inspire as do the troubadours…..
To this day everyday,
I ask: is it the devil and God
Fighting for my soul
Or is it my mind sliding left or right?
Hurricane erupt from every thought
Or is it every illusion?
Maybe a challenge of with
Or a chess game predestined?
I ask and pray
And I fail and fail.
A bastard to be sure,
But why no concrete in this wall of doubt?
Grateful I predate the roe and wade
by exactly 5 years...
Never a perfect moment,
Save the alcohol on my breath.
So tomorrow I may rise
Tomorrow I may not
In God we trust
My love and lust
Frightened foxes
Seek night for
Chicken-stealing
Birds are free from
Guilt-consciousness
They predate
What they predate
In daylight
?
Ethical equilibrium!
Weather Alert, Expect Hard Freeze
Miracle Man
October 31, 2023
The weather alert started with a northwest breeze,
and said before morning we’d see a hard freeze.
But this won’t be the earliest freeze I’ve seen,
for it isn’t uncommon to predate Halloween.
The results of this, green leaves will be browned,
and I still had garden hoses laying aground.
Each year I’m slower doing winterizing chores,
Just the thought of winter drives me indoors.
I’ve put things on hold too numerous to mention,
a warm cozy fire always steals my attention.
The furnace must be checked before turning it on,
and all large windows heavy drapes to be drawn.
It’s hard to get motivated feeling chained to a walker,
I guess my main fear is I’m becoming a balker.
Early each morn I have thoughts about writing,
but most thoughts of late aren’t overly inviting.
And Jesus loves me!
The Paragliders like ravenous vultures flew
to southern Israel to predate on soft targets.
Like swarms of bees, they snuck, raped, maimed, shot, burnt and slew.
Terror did every man's fragile conscience becloud.
Hate made their embittered hearts to mercy forget.
Abductions followed, having to terror avowed.
Then came the IDF's genocidal intent,
having intended global laws to circumvent;
Children, women, all consumed by mighty vengeance.
A disproportionate response beyond balance.
Homes, hospitals, Mosques, Churches and schools are levelled,
as Gaza is by torrents of bombs bedeviled.
I do not with a livid Israel sympathize,
nor do I with a besieged Gaza empathize.
With humanity I have my affinity,
for my deep love for it, tends to infinity.
Thunderous fighter birds,
loud torrential explosives,
blood thirsty Kalashnikovs,
monstrous and destructive tanks,
bloodshed by the river banks,
numerous catacombs interred,
dismembered bodies
on landscapes littered.
Vengeful hearts embittered,
countless tragedies,
misery corrodes like corrosives,
lawlessness without caution,
insanity without option,
hell is incessantly let loose,
for safety you may never choose.
Men of beastly testosterone
on vulnerable women predate.
Bastards are pervasively birthed;
the seed of hate and discord is sown.
Each course is decided by fate,
essentials are ravaged by dearth,
refugees to distant lands take flight,
as they hope that peace will be in sight.
Oh that men will cease to wage war!
Oh that men will peace adore!
Did time predate matter,
unto itself
Alive A Priori
—wholly indwelt
(Dreamsleep: July, 2021)
Time has never been a focus
of mine – speaking primarily of longevity –
A sense of being alive seeming to predate
my oldest memories;
I think of memory...more precisely, of dreams --
imagining journeys to far-off romantic places,
along with those invented lands of
challenging climbs and horrific descents into
unrelenting madness...
I think of god – and how He appears to many of us
in our own recognizable ways...
I think of those masses of non believers – awake
only to the diminishing depths of surface presence...
while their science speaks of multiple dimensions,
they, themselves, appear captives of a shallow psyche,
with its own self-imposed span of limited existence...
Must we use him?
Hello Anger
Why do people wear you like a battle cloth?
Is it when they knock your door?
Or you always wander around
Like a lion seeking for its prey
Hello Anger
Why do you cherish man soul not?
Is it to satisfy your hunger?
Or to blame whom you are been expressed to?
Hello Anger
Why do you cause hassle between minds?
Is it to make the world a desert?
Or afraid of what love might cause?
Hello Anger,
Why do you moisten his mind with your mind?
Like a flocks soak in a flowing water
Is it because he is always provoked?
Or your hunger is never satisfied?
Hello Anger,
Why do you predate on soul with your toothcomb?
Like a Lemur running after a lice
Is it to fret them of their happiness?
Or to put their life at risk of regrets?
Hello People,
Why don’t you shelter against his toothcomb?
Or you love the track formed by his comb on your skin?
Those he has marked has never regain theirs
Hello Anger
I don’t know your abode…Earth or Heart
But wherever you are, I have learnt
To shield my mind against your toothcomb.
can you open the floodgates
one coffee date
nothing ornate
why can't you relate
why do you skate
the subject of debate
I'm not cheapskate
I'll let you dictate
and narrate
stories of fate
I just want your plate
of poem's ruminate
and mysteries of predate
and of course of late
nothing more to agitate
or allocate
nothing to repudiate
i'll be cool and straight
i won't be late
I'll throw my weight
skip the prate
and the clown gait
i'll be calm and sedate
do not freight
or deflate
can you open ...
... the flood gates
connie pachecho
2/11/17
Death has different meanings for us at different stages of life
So is poetry.
Its images are collage
Of thoughtful ideas wedded into a door,
Symbols are its bricks and stones
Of a home of thoughts,
Where nerves make a man grow
Like a poem
Beginning, middle and an end.
‘I revise quite a lot.’, says a veteran poet.
The fragile erotic moments of love, lust and of touch
Come and go,
dream of a rivulet where tribal women are splashing away in the rain water
poetry captures them in sweet cadence.
It’s a movement in men,
A bubble of desire
That leaps water
As black cloud does in monsoon.
Poetry is close to heart
It moves hearts,
Extends things further
Where colourful mosaics
Drag sensations from bricks and metals.
Lovers have a full day,
In rhymed thoughts.All red!
An art form may predate literacy
Beside a rivulet
Far away from the city’s rust.
Life rides on words!
Four hundred and eight million years or more
ago, these mandibled arthropods were alive
left years to languish in the fossil drawer,
unearthed again, just crushed remains survive.
These natives of what would be Aberdeen,
by nearly thirty million years, predate
the oldest bugs that anyone had seen --
New York’s silverfish must now abdicate.
Their body shape seems to exemplify
what we today can still identify --
ancestors of our modern dragonfly --
and that they had four wings we can imply.
What does it matter? What’s it signify?
Once life emerged from seas, it learned to fly.
Our neighbourhoods our prisons
Outside fear, death, street barons
Streetwar innocent souls deadens
Guns, daggers, stickers in dozens
Nothing to do but the others hate
In dark corners the weak predate
Beware of tempting bait
You may end up in a strait
Join a wicked gang
Have no feelings no pang
Just follow the yang
Drugs, girls, bang bang bang
Men of affairs, scientists, gentlemen collectors,
researchers, technicians, plankton detectors.
Ladies, when permitted, provided manful help
Wading shorelines intrepidly for variegated kelp.
Be-whiskered men off charted shores
their Science to be applied.
From blindest depths defy stern jaws
to reveal a great divide.
Thus predate all faith - shift their cores –
expecting the spring tide.
Knowing their names, seeking their protection.
Categorised, specified, a literal dissection.
Must now each specimen elders plucked, and carefully
selected,
be hidden forever, politically corrected?
Dead-eyed and soaked, deep in their jars.
Pickled in formaldehyde.
Gentleman, killer? The choice is yours,
Think well before you decide.
Is the Creator of countless stores
Dr. Jekyll or Mister Hyde?
The squelching heat has of no effect
on the air-conditioned Minute Men
as they survey the desert land.
Keeping ever vigilant
against the alien brown skins
that endlessly cross their borders.
These pressed khaki pant militias
devoutly scour the arid passageways
equipped with bottled water,
binoculars, and cell phones.
Guarding the roads
to the ancient canyons of the Navajo
and the Peabody Mining Company.
Or through the Mexican Missions
that predate California.
Territory good Anglo American's
recently inherited
from the parents of rape and murder.
God bless America
and God save the Minute Men.
Dean Walker
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