Do I call it an unhealthy obsession?
The insanity of my restless mind?
A picture-perfect story, unsuited for the frame
But would it be too much to ask for?
To record every laugh of yours
To capture every fleeing second of your frame
To hear your voice on an endless loop,
To love you a little more and then again a little more in a cycle untill I'm a fallen leaf
Would that be too much to ask for?
A picture-perfect story when I don't even have a picture
To hold onto you forever?
I never knew if this would happen, If it would end on good terms, Or if it would ever truly begin.
Your eyes-serendipity etched in my life- You're ineffable, beyond words for this world.
And yet, I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said it so.
I won't ask why it ended like this.
I won't ask why it never began.
Maybe, in another universe, The threads connected as they should
But here, i lost the golden string that was destined to bind us.
Would it be too much to ask, to manifest a dream when there's nothing left to weave?
I'd still ask for a little more
To hold onto those moments, to stay just a little longer with you.
Would that be too much to ask for?
It's hard to maintain a strong democracy
when people elect a kakistocracy.
To those who believe in "America First":
your government now consists of the worst.
The POTUS must be cruel and cockeyed
choosing a cabinet of the least-qualified.
Only someone vile and obscene
would select a Health Secretary who is anti-vaccine.
And the Education Secretary must be stunned:
she actually refers to AI as "A One"!
But then, a man with a history of disorderly conduct
would choose sycophants who are cracked and corrupt.
The new definition of stupid
is accepting those who are unsuited,
knowing the truth and seeing it with your own eyes,
but still believing the hype and the lies.
Gilgamesh O’Malley left his home in Fermanagh
With dreams of steaming plates of Irish stew.
He ate his last potato last time Sheamus paid the rent.
Since then, there’s not been very much to chew.
The lords of the Ascendancy express paternal care
By flaunting all their privileges of wealth,
While tenant souls like Gilgamesh subsist on gospel words
Unsuited for the maintenance of health.
The famine’s grip was guaranteed by what was done to help;
The landlords’ ledgers chronicled events.
The mighty Earl of Lucan and the rest lived absentee,
Their middlemen kept busy squeezing rents.
So, Gilgamesh O’Malley left his home in Fermanagh,
And climbed aboard a packet ship in Cobh.
He authored his own epic as an immigrant at large,
To brave the flood and find a decent job.
Gilgamesh O'Malley left his home for foreign shores.
Should the Fates condemn your destiny, his fortune could be yours.
despite some consideration for the hows, whys, wherefores and whether
unguided, wandering through known universe tying things together
aged in millenniums, centuries, decades, days, hours and minutes
each one existing where all things may be true within their own limits
why, oh why have such tribulations of strife and tears befallen us?
does not the wealth of true human knowledge speak to and through all of us?
must we believe that all human foibles are prone to repetition?
beneficial ideologies should improve the human condition
avoiding pretension, apologies create their own disguises
unannounced guest from the past, guilt arrives in many shapes and sizes
we are fragile beings, unsuited to living beyond our planet
prone to greed, prejudice, long lasting grievances and truth's abandonment
often more than willing to turn into our own worst protagonist
Feeling by life prosecuted
'Cause our aura is polluted
Time's now we gently put on pause
Egoic thoughts to soul unsuited
Where we choose to dwell is life's cause
Love determines all divine laws
Reclaim now bliss that throbs within
Behold how touch of God's hand awes
Simple is the way to begin
Cave of heart's open, go therein
Let love distil every desire
Ignite innocence, exhume sin
Entwined with love, we never tire
Save God, there's nothing we aspire
Ceasing to resist, we're a mist
Vibrant, aglow, our soul's afire
17-October-2022
'Degenerate ' Kirchner had no place to hide
closed his life in suicide
There in Switzerland ,in exile
it seemed his art *was unsuited to Nazi style
*https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/ernst-ludwig-kirchner-1414
it's as though i untied the knots but am still tied to the spot
just because i saw all the tangles then untangled the lot
doesn't mean I'm not strangled and can handle the drop
or cut loose from the noose which connected the dots.
What next? Perplexed, guess still trying to digest,
vexed to inexpressed, cycles back to ingest,
diluting a consuming pullulating index,
digress from subjects mind filled to a flex.
address to progress but pulling new knots,
new stress through mulling over not forgots,
depressed with aggression and losing the plot,
a quest for understanding when found it stops.
days are a bobsleigh dive bombing at pace,
visualising the future yet seeing just space,
out of the persisting mists permanent state
realise I'm unsuited to what follows this escape.
You get to a point where
you can’t read them anymore
and consider yourself a grown-up.
But it wasn’t until I was fifty-two
that I threw them away.
How long could they hide
in a high school brief case
next to a box of sweaters
in the attic?
So…into the Dumpster Doodle-Doo
they went: her Wuthering epistles,
and my Heathcliff’s angst
Risen to the “beep beep beep”
of a trash trawler’s chaw.
By then she was a preacher’s wife
in Pennsylvania, and I was running
Manufacturing trades for a defense
plant in Rhode Island,
a job for which I was
wholly unsuited
They were two new skins
for the both of us
only one of which
had been redeemed.
What would we do without our morning brew
It's our salvation when waking between me and you
Tea doesn't cut it
Orange juice unsuited
Only that good old fashioned brew will surely do
There are no lofty mountain peaks, nor inlets of the sea.
Just rolling plains for miles on end, where the wind blows wild and free.
And before we found the oil, what was there indeed?
Mild lands, so unadorned, unsuited for man's greed.
Perhaps that's why the sowers, the ones who came before,
Were so intent on fashioning, for their children, so much more.
What quiet beauty in the hands, that built this precious state,
Tis it not man's greatest gift? To till, and plant, and wait?
Knowing well the fruit will come, too late for us to taste.
And knowing still our choice was right, that others call a waste.
By the struggle of our fathers, and sons in years to come,
who's to speak the limit, of what we can become?
2 September 2017
Loitering in a public library this rainy afternoon,
courting inspiration, subjects come to mind
but are more suitable as essay than as poem.
All usual activities occur -- visitors come, visitors go --
a typical afternoon flow of many who, unlike me,
may have no other place to go.
My empty house -- comfortable, dry --
far from bare, has a large flat-screen TV:
it reports the news and offers any other
sort of program that I choose.
The fridge is stocked, coffee brewed,
the doors unlocked. But now no neighbors come.
My cell phone mutely occupies an empty pocket.
A need for others' presence
does confirm I am a social animal
unsuited to prolonged separations.
Library visits provide assurance
a possibility exists for contact --
to know and to be known --
to extend, or to grasp,
a hand in friendship.
Even, perhaps, for mutual
spoken, or unspoken,
communication.
Why, then, do I
often leave discouraged,
without having said aloud
even a single word?
Oh we spark
'n nature in our hearts
Who'd have thought we'd be so perfect
I'm so nervous, should I be not?
I thought about all the letters
I never thought to send her
But still we pass our notes like a couple of teenagers
It's all good now
Just shhhhhhh
You don't need to talk
When that song is on
I've been thinking a lot
I'm good to you right?
You'd tell me if I'm not
I'm just a neurotic
And A tad paradoxic
So if I always worry
Just say I'm a hot ticket
But I don't know why I got it in my head
I just got a bit deluded
And thought you were perfect
When it could have been disputed
And should have been refuted
I should have been more astute and
Now I feel really secluded
My heart has been polluted
Because of course I'm so unsuited
For you I was never included
I don't know now
I can't get over it, time won't allow
Im wandering singing tasteless tunes
And wondering why nobody has a clue
Would you ever say it back?
A failure in the placement of the tree;
Too small are roots which spread into the soil.
At first so perfect,later one can see
Its strength unable full life to uncoil.
A hidden shame for partly sensed deep lacks
A drawing back when growth was better sense
A fear of unknown dangers in soil black
Humiliation makes a hidden fence.
Perhaps this tree’s unsuited to our climes.
Seed moved far away from parents home.
Yet once it starts to grow there is no time
Unless it’s quickly moved from English loam
For lacking its best soil ,unrooted gifts
Are not developed,and in struggle twist.
Share this:
Let the dark consume me as I am
Beyond that of time I shall never need
Take me to where space I can bend
To a place I need never beg and plead
Perhaps I can begin again... hidden
An alternative life only I have access to
From a now life to ever constantly beckons
Same difference...yet never once I knew
As of night... the day do not bring content
Simply a being where humans don’t blend
Everyone only wants to be heard
Simply no one listens, no one has the word
Things that can never be questioned becomes accepted
How life can only be constantly unsuited
Have you not the need to change to adapt to time?
Do you not feel constantly left behind?
The balance between hot and cold
Its between... we stubbornly ignore the edge and flow
Hour after hour, the day falling into night
A will without power, simply walking to never take flight
When you speak, do you hear your voice?
When you think, do you make a choice?
Would you rather, either or?
Rather to be neither nor
Where the dark shall consume me as I am
In a place I need never beg and plead
A place where space I can see bend
Where of time shall forever be without need
The heartfelt words may choose to hide
from loving hearts that cast aside
unsuited phrases, that can't say
"I love you" in that special way.
I search, so hard, for words to use,
but find so few that do not lose
the meaning that should simply be
the truthful thought -- "You cherish me."
When nights are long, and you're not there,
I seek a word or phrase to share
the feeling deep inside of me
when I believe -- "You cherish me."
To find a loving word or phrase
that best describes the loving gaze
you give to me, and I to you,
is something difficult to do.
But, every day, I'll search and sort
for words to say what's in my heart.
and, through my eyes, I hope you'll see
the meaning of -- "You cherish me."
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