Untenable Poems

Giants

Is cruelty hiding in the stars deceitful play?
What a waste of heart; for them to lie in silence as dying art

For their lights just untenable promises made,
Giants: long gone before we see them as something smart

I envy their brilliance cast in prior eons relayed
Death riding light waves, but arriving late for the start 

So, in the face of the most enormous losses, is hope conveyed?
Or does something big have to leave, for brightness to depart?

class of 25

If freshman year was aspirational
and sophomore year was unhinged
junior year was put up or shut up
and senior year is a dash to the finish line

This year’s on fast forward—and it’s for keeps
every to-do list has value-laden questions
things seem sharp edged, single use and intense
it’s all about trajectories and ‘landing spots”

Let’s wax poetic..

Produce now, or spend fury on thyself—all else is untenable
we’re past youth and ignorance—your honour’s at stake

Suitors call you by name, like well-acquainted friends
they took your measure—you’re beyond the mark of others
they seduce with money—the future brings liberty and noble deeds.

So don the the garland and prove thyself—take the field
join the battle—now’s the reward—aidless, perpetual toil
with every motion be right, it’s thy shunless destiny.
.
.
A song for this:
A Man of Great Promise by The Style Council
Headstart For Happiness by The Style Council

Steppin' Off

Steppin’ Off 
My Platform 


I
Will 
Miss you,
It’s only so long
And not a swan song
I have projects awaiting 
They need some attention
An untenable encumbrance
Far too many to mention 
So I’ll be takin’ time out
Or bound to get worse
September First
Steppin’ off

Betrayal in Whelm of the sea

All around me, the ugliness and rays.
Those scrimshaw eyes, I’m dizzy with the haze.
My pulsepoint jumped, too cozy with our friend.
My arms and legs, in seesaw wave, betrays.

My husband grins with thoughtfulness and flounce.
With piquant sense, he’s unafraid of pounce.
It alarms me, the claustraphobic crowd -
The stingers rest - in whelm of sea they bounce.

I cannot bear flow’s untenable feast.
A turnabout…disconcerting…at least.
My lipshade sours, I back away, take pause,
As loving spouse does pet and kiss the beast.

POEM TO RENEE : MASTER HEALER

POEM TO RENEE, MASTER HEALER

Perfectly proportioned Greek goddess
except her philosophies were 
somewhat eastern 
or eternal

Gold locks alight
magical medicine woman 
aflame with Sakara heat
feeds us walnuts 
wrapped in dates

Blond lashes thick as a 
witches broom
crown holding 
vine veins entwined 
Serpent spirited 
she blows crimson notes 
into our stretched out
poignant palms

Dissolve untenable 
unfathomable fears !
dissipate sorrows of souls…
silver wing tips of nightingales
come, come, pierce skin
fly far with Masters and 
angels into Olympus 
of open oracles

Remember Power, balance 
peace, ChristLight 
Mother Mary, ease

Michael and Chamuel 
clapped clanging away 
sores sliced ignorance 
opened organs
spun wheels 

Too urgent, so urgent
forgetting Love is 
patient

I did not know
her time was 
very near
I am mourning
My Beloved Master 

©ghairodanielspoetry&song2000

Once Again

Once again I find myself at the whim of these storms.
From peak to valley, to peak again.
I’m spent. 
They take my energy, my focus & desires. Turn them on their head, then shatter them to pieces as though they were never whole. The torment of this story is unyielding and I wonder with breath baited, if the climax will result in a happy ending or a journey in an endless maze, lost forever. 
Fighting tears of hopelessness while mustering courage continues to be the most fragile of processes, one where the demands of life weigh untenable. 
I’m spent. 
However, because I can’t, won’t give up, I swallow these emotions forcing them to the bowels of my soul.
In hopes, the higher me can absolve the defeated nature of my cells, to inspire the vibration of me with life again.
To transfuse my mind and heart to move, to beat anyway. 
In the face of my shadow, my demons, my pain, to heal my wounds, and align me with the light again. 
I relent.

The Masked Singer

The Masked Singer is an entertainer on stage in masquerade
A baker by day; a singer by night with accolade

The Masked Singer dresses as a male and sometimes female 
He is a ***** but with many personalities of a strong male

The masked one bakes bread in the morning
Before dawn donates bread in an orphanage
That's what he does in bright days of living
Sings and dance in the evening passage

The masked male renders songs of praise
To God and to all of humane haste
Once he was awarded in the Hall of Craze
Disguising as a singing pauper on streets of blaze

It's a short-lived life narrated about the masked singer
Who died shortly after a sponsored-play with a ringer
A runaway train in the dark that ran over
His untenable body wringed and flattened headless
Yards away from the rail... a rolling head of the masked singer


"I dedicate this simple poem to a friend representing all other hardworking LGBTQs of the World who offer more than enough of themselves in saving other people's lives."


(Prosebite)

Encounters

ENCOUNTERS
 Impressionistic
reflections
in the moving light
fields
that emerge

so composed
intuitive
&unshowy
& reimagined
in  unsettled fluidity
illuminated
 subtly
&different

a wonder
 manifested
&most recognisable
with a
  shimmering effect
audacity  itself
in a
bittersweet
experience
to offer some
  consolation
though
untenable
vys for attention

NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE   using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.

Inhale

Inhale


my heartbeat slows,
blood sluggish
through stenotic vessels
unwilling to expand,
to breathe
to let blood flow

untenable, this suffocation
this dampening
it speaks of tired eyes,
of stolid limbs,
of stultified need

torpid blood,
when will you give up
your self-imposed stricture,
your closely guarded fear,
your wariness

and inhale

Insincere Apology

Did you say you are sorry, my friend,
With a genuine feeling of humble contrition, 
Or was your “Sorry about that!” a means to an end,
To change your ill-considered, untenable position
Without regard for my miserable condition?

written January 23, 2022

Broken Politics - Is There Another Way

Divisive, abusive, hollow and torn,
Our politics broken through anger and scorn,
More pointing of fingers, of turning one's back,
Is this the new norm, our thorny new track?

What happened to thinking before all those tweets,
Like manicured gardens torn up by rough cleats,
The skill of debate, of viewing both sides,
Bridging that gap from all which divides?

Conviction and Passion bedfellows at times,
Are often the cause of unspeakable crimes,
Opinions do matter but where the heart rules
Indiscriminately steals the most precious of tools.

Reason and empathy, knowledge and tact,
Not impulse and odium and that's a firm fact;
One road may be windy, the other dead straight,
But both may yet lead to the very same gate.

A viewpoint reminds of an infant just born,
It develops and thrives if loved not forlorn,
Tended and taught by the many not few,
For that kernel of light to shine brightly through.

Balanced and just, open to thought,
Opinions conceived and not merely taught,
An untenable vision, an improbable dream?
It takes but the thinnest of wedges to open a seam.

A Little Philosophy

Where does it lead, this path I follow?
I look back. So many twists and turns,
Such a long, way, some parts smooth as sand, 
others strewn with pebbles and rocks,
even seemingly insurmountable boulders.
Yet, here I am, the hurdles in every case
somehow in the past, somehow overcome.
The path ahead of me is much shorter,
and where it is going I cannot know.
It bends away from me, beyond my sight, 
each day a gift for which to be grateful,
as time is fleeting and who knows the length
of this phase of existence called life
or what is to become of us after that?
Surely there are no mansions in the sky 
to accommodate all of the souls passed on.
Does the soul go on into some existence, 
the nature of which we, as humans, are
completely incapable of comprehending?
Does the soul, at the instant of death,
pass into a baby just being conceived, 
thus living an endless round of human lives?
Or, as some think, is death simply the end.
That answer is untenable for me.
Exactly what is beyond, I do not know,
but I feel strongly that the soul does live on,
and, for some reason, it does matter
what kind of life we have led here on earth.

And We Re Off With a Bang

For I myself,
I sit and watch and wait
as if time were transcendental
as though I can make life’s 
moments move
FAST 
or s l o w.

As if some preconceived and instructive checklist 
were handed to me.
I watch now,
as the world goes round,
heeding THIS man’s deference 
to
THAT man’s song.

The string,
which binds all to this planet,
ever present
and equidistant 
between the generations
of all who have gone before.
Does our voyeurs perception 
cast an untenable perspective?
Thrusting those 
measured and metered days
into chaos.
Can one persevere, 
and succeed
IF Schrodingers cat 
is both 
ALIVE and DEAD ?
Has that tree really fallen in the forest,
IF no one observed it’s final decay 
as it falls
and thuds
with mediocrity 
to the ground, to take note ?
Are WE star dust blown cautiously by the wind ?
Or
Are WE in an ever repeating cyclical cycle of 
BIRTH
LIFE
DEATH
RINSE and REPEAT ?
A soul of  blood,  flesh,  tears, happiness and pain,
on a journey from nothingness 
and back again.

Beautification

Corralled in Plato’s cave,
groupies of untenable shadows,
silenced their intuitions to the smoke and other sighs.

Jamaica’s capital hosted a convention
giving an ever-leaving coward’s play a stage,
now his work is done.

Senior partner and the oldest liar —
the younger roo’s handler —
watches from his own Whitman’s tower;

one man walking past the fire,
brave enough to look at the sun,
his integrity can see behind it.

Hate moved a biased hand against him,
but the truth is like The Cross,
and vanity will always seek a mirror.

Beyond any conviction,
immutable.
Forever keeping themselves,
beautiful.

----------------------------------------

Written: 05.01.20 – 05.03.20

Inspired by the bravery, intellectual honesty and integrity of my friend Mark Koplin.

A Life Imprudent

Forgive me if I seem imprudent

I am not trying to be impudent

And I am not trying to be impertinent,

I am just trying find some contentment

While trying to avoid any resentment,

Caused by me seeming aloof and unpredictable

I find life more exciting and irresistible,

When caught in moments of time divisible

I have no desire to be at all miserable

And every single present second is incontrovertible

And all I see is clearly discernable

In a world that is cold but is reversible

Existence without you would be untenable

Leaving me to being susceptible

With a motivation barely detectable

I am a person who can seem invisible

In a life that very rarely seems to ever care at all.

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