The difference between a finger and a thumb
is Shakespeare. Anyone can dream
of a candle, but you’d better dodge your shadow,
because death, that great et cetera,
is the opposite of surreal. If there were no thunder
there would be no mountains, so something like a snowflake
cannot be conferred: it must be earned.
You will tell me that anyone can say this,
which is why I am saying it. Your puzzlement
shows how well you understand. It is important
to have someone to talk to
even if they can’t hear you. You can polish a mirror
until you see your face, but it will not
be you, because meaning is created
when we are not looking, while the grass
grows, grows, grows.
That was an ode to Walt Whitman.
Can you
Could you
Solve this conundrum
Decipher this dilemma
Troubling me?
How do you find
What seems lost forever
How do you seek
What is no longer found?
What do you call that which
Has forgotten its name
How do you point fingers
When we are all to blame?
I look up at the sky
Glimpsing nothing but clouds
Though my eyes search for a silver lining
How can it feel so bitterly cold
Though I see that the sun is shining
An elusive enigma
A problem perplexing
A quandary quite sigma
And truly quite vexing
A Gordian knot with no simple solution
No way to escape this mental pollution
Perhaps in the face of a futile endeavor
I will remain in this labyrinth
Trapped here forever
Or perhaps this is only a passing phase
I will recover, I will amaze
Life is too rich to be squandered away
I will rise to fight another day.
A Distance to Overcome
A time to contemplate repercussions is intense
And for me to start making plausible decisions.
The distance from here to eternity is immense
In derision of my contemptuous revisions.
Is there need for more, or is it disillusionment?
That prevents my escape from this shoreline apathy.
The villagers seem to be content in their placement
Watching the waves breaking like time-piece contingencies.
“Out there!” they point and say when I stare in puzzlement.
“You’ll get there one day, so why be in such a hurry?”
Their cavalier prognosis causes me disturbance
Lest I be held accountable before expiry
By a surprising analysis intervention
That will leave me mired down and desolate, persistent
In stubbornness, overwhelmed by procrastination
Because I was afraid to overcome the distance.
There are no more telephone booths,
not the old type - the glass coffins.
The Atalanta hub is rocking,
planes and people buzzing in and out
of an anthill nexus
of distracted minds.
Calling London,
a city
that has red telephone boxes,
concrete-set booths
that all ring at once.
Wrong numbers are seeking answers.
There is a cacophony
in the pressed ears of puzzlement.
The airport begins to spin around,
faster and faster,
a shaky orbit encircling speaking lips.
Dialing fingers sweat, are too thick
for changing conversations.
Talking heads are searching
for one direct call,
one line in an ethereal ball of string.
Red boxes are bellowing now,
every voice is angry,
nearby glass booths
are trembling with a frustrated rage.
All these images are an allegory
for the deaf and dumb days of yore,
a distant time locked in its own
transparent sarcophagus -
drowned-out mouths,
even now
fitfully trying to connect.
Sprawling, against a backlit Sun. Magenta
the Clockwork of Time
and its infinite antinominies
..................of timeless aimlessness
and Void of Time
fades as a memory
the pulse and rhythm of each staccato stroke
against the clockwork springs
and fine-tuned apparatus
the pendulum swing
and weighted balance strokes
Masses of Fixed, orbital constructs
and circadian heartbeat pulses
conforming to some Final End
of Morbid Alarm
or Eternal Awakening
the surreal bending of metronome reflection
twists the Absolute structure of melody
(notwithstanding it's momentary cadence,
and sequence of endless notes
Cascading
backwards in patch-work puzzlement,
like Shostakovich having a break before the
Symphony begins
and lets out Piano-Forte brash
as if in dissonant protest
to the scandal of patterned, and ordered
Tablature
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)
It’s a tryingly featured world to be in,
In which every restless heart minds
Pleasant principal affairs of its own;
Where spurned soul no solace finds.
It’s an unresting space to occupy,
Where every stirring brain thinks
Of its own idiosyncratic concerns;
Where tired limbs totter on brinks.
It’s an interesting place to have share
In unique diaries of fellow sojourners,
Sparing oneself yet giving some part
To other mortals of diverse manners.
It’s a pretty striking existence to pass
Best seasons doing stuff you’ll leave,
And still feel okay despite knowledge
You’ll lose all fiscal efforts that peeve.
Visiting a beach full of childhood memories
Laughing, running, until exhausted,
Tide was out, expression used
Saw a vision of my Father, digging for bait
Pitchfork in hand studying sand and mud
Chose a patch of sand, is there something special?
All looked the same to children playing
Seagulls circling, screeching calls repeating
Removed Shoes then my socks
Rolled up my trousers what a sight
Laughed inwardly as to the scene unfolds
Aware of footprints leading into the distance
Remembered the game of measuring sizes
Who was it that walked before us?
Checked length of stride of footprints before me
A strange sight for anyone watching
A grown adult acting as if a child
My feet fitted into footprints before me
The stride felt so comfortable
Stopped for a rest looking skyward
So many seagulls, whirling, circling
Turned to view the trail of footprints
None behind me none in front
Sat on the sand, puzzlement indeed
Stood to walk back from where I came
No footprints appeared in the sand
A person walking on the beach
I tried to dodge, they passed right through me
You cannot roller skate in the house she tells my child.
Why not? I ask.
She is silent.
Her mouth gets all prissy.
Rose bud like.
I would not let him do that if I were you, a stranger advises me.
That’s because you are not me, I reply.
Not in a mean way.
In a nonchalant way.
Not snotty.
What is wrong with you? The stranger asks me.
I am consternated.
Confused.
Wondering.
Why do people think they can control other people?
It is a puzzlement to me.
Bamboozles me each time.
I taste your enigmas
bitter—then sweet—
I unravel them with
wonder in my lips
as surety black
paradox puzzlement
brightens—opens—
birthing color.
Life's golden hours take one through so many,
Our footsteps echoing through time's hallways.
Peach dawn through sunset, legs running plenty,
Like brilliant seasons searching for always!
In and out of each other's lives we turn,
Touched with puzzlement by each mystery,
And with our heart's passions slowly we burn,
'Til glowing sunset years' tinged memory!
Some portals grand, and some are quite humble,
For each life's filled with unique challenges,
And we hold fast to faith, lest we stumble.
Savouring charmed sunrooms and passages.
Through each portal new sensations await,
Like a field blooming wild behind the gate!
Silently, you come into the room.
No one even notices you there.
I see you move to the unsensing groom.
Do you bring gifts, wine to cheer?
Suddenly, your presence is felt with eyes
Drinking you in with bewildering puzzlement.
Men in wonder turn with hidden guise.
Do you bring wishes, words of benefit?
Where do you come from? Were you invited?
Will you be welcomed here? Tell us your
story to evoke good will, or should we be ignited?
Do you bring tidings, or something more?
The groom turns to see you come close.
His expression lightens in recognition.
With quickened steps he stops nose-to-nose
enfolds you tightly, relieving the tension.
“Welcome brother!” he loudly cries out.
“You, the older brother, gone to serve.
Home for this joyous union!” I shout.
We greet you with respect you deserve!”
So the brothers set strong resolve
To revel in the doubly cherished juncture.
Four short hours too quick to dissolve
the bond, too powerful to puncture.
I am heavy hot and mad
attracted by the same virtue in man
as I move in leaps and bounces
a puzzlement to the mind
shake the earth like a rag
as it speeds on its axis and wobbles
inverting magnetism north to south
you reset your compass and ask not why
you look and you don’t see until you panic
when in the sky appear the sun and I
which I may even smite
am I not heartless?
And leave you in the dark
three days and nights
Third Place Winner: Caren Krutsinger Personification Contest 150
Fourth Place winner: Nina Parmenter-You Are A star-7/8/20
proximity was far beyond the reach
of closure departure
destination settlement
immediacy suspended a hung sky
in longitude perspectives
equations riddles
requests gripped the claws in vain
from suffering attachment
torture stranglehold
distance called upon commotion
in puzzlement surrender
gratitude belief
restitution bridged the gaping hole
for restitution destiny
awareness harmony
as the horizon tilted into meaning
contradicted stagnant apprehension
a canopy of scintillating comfort
crowned her roots with wings to fly
in liberation acceptance
tranquility balance
tarred feathers oozed in the sun
skin healed the scars of separation
wounds closed outskirts of despair
outposts became internal delectation
as life reached out and one path closed opened up the journey ...
Why are we here?
There is an aching craving
deep gnawing within heart and mind
pondering how and what life is,
the conundrum of how it all came to be
and the eternal question
of why.
This is the inner hunger
wretching in the gut
tugging at the heartstrings and its beat
tearing voracious at the spirit and soul
with prayer and deepest thought, whinge
of why.
These are the languid askings,
wanderings, pinings in dark soulless nights
encompassing the yearning need and want
the have to be of the unseen and unknown
longing covetous desires for cause and proof
of why.
This is the puzzlement unanswered
lingering doubt in mysteries of existence
be you a believer or not, we are
hungering for the enigmas of life
all the hows and wheres and whens
of why.
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