Our Opossum Has a Strong Propensity for Crime
By Frank Daub
Discovered in a backyard nighttime check –
an opossum wandering behind our garden shed.
Pin-pointed face, squinting eyes.
It did not run -- to my surprise.
Only staring, lighted softly by the porchlight.
Little.
Sleek in a white-gray-tan-straight-fur-slicked-down way.
The streets around are not friendly to its kind.
This unfair truth made up my mind.
I should let the shed-bottom harbor it.
This would require: FEEDING.
I decided the feeding plan -- without data-based reference --
would be workable.
I tried every sort of natural vegetable.
Walnuts added when the berries nurtured
hordes of ants --
Not
the opossum.
The dietary effort proved it.
Our opossum has a strong propensity for crime.
Particular it is to nighttime
sneaking forays - for food of course.
(This assured the legality of it for me.)
Our opossum was not particular to dietary do’s and don’ts;
Being just inclined to FEEDING its necessary wants.
The animal had a penchant – not a preference --
an exceeding zest for anything edible.
Incredible.
Line of Inquiry:
"a heartbeat pulsating as living light
free from each and every limitation
I Am that dwelling in unbound delight
the source wherefrom arises creation"
A soul of purest essence
an eternal consciousness
I am ultimate truth
rivers of justice run through
I am an ongoing metamorphosis
becoming a butterfly
every moment
I hold on, but don't cling
laugh, cry and sing
Wrongly downtrodden,
A sheep coated in fake black paint
They forgot to use a permanent
marker
I persist, resist, real and really transparent
Workable, reasonable - a changing wind
who listens to the other side
then will ride off into
everything
Feel the feather that tickles your awareness
with fairness. It's only me you've met
and you wont forget
if you want your conversations to be
more stable,
Never having to sleep in the stable,
Then conversations over the breakfast table,
Or the tea table,
Whenever you are able,,
Will give you a life that is more workable.
A day planned at the table,
Means no dishes in the sink,
or on the table,
No crumbs on the floor,
As you are heading out the door,,
Giving no reason for the slamming of the door.
Congenial conversations over coffee at your table,
Brings others to the table,
Who will always respect you and your home,
Whenever you are home,
To enjoy conversations at your table,
So, you can have a life that is more stable.
The nadir of insanity, is engendered by a
controlling
Humanity, who on impulses of awareness
of mortality in all fairness.) Does
Propulse their very thinking.? And with efforts always plinking.' Whilst in despair and never blinking, dazelled by much lighting, and daubed in cosmetics..Its all rather frightening, and might well effect actions of health and thought connection.' Always dealing and extruding confidence
As precluding any workable continuam there is great proclivity, to? To? I'll term it
' turbo-binning ' as the waste of all their intense-ity.. biights earth and heaven with monstrosity's there is no
end to in truth; just 'oddity's' A 1970s car i'm told fired away.? I
Fail to see there beauty.. Rather insecurity its somewhat sad.. I sense, just some thoughts today.' As lost in denial.' Of reality (and certain files?) Not to mention trials.. They tinker with vials..Containing whatever.? Will make them. Younger;
ever clever clever.? To me its real alien, and why direction is failing.'
Its a loop despair ' and deep fear it seems that that drives them to eventually no-where.'
I observe the continual ' over liberal 'design.' Demand
Demand and to shoot, is there any moral line.?
Spurred on by sucsss's over forty years.'
Assulting workable familiy units.. With a barrage
Of anger passive agression false piety? And many tears
Yet the formula it seems has garnerd, gains? And room
To cause so much division, self-doubt indeed so much gloom.'
Is there a lesson for others? On how to mis-behave?
Grab the spotlight and clamour.' By night or by day.!
Marta’s kitchen was exactly the same as I remembered.
I had not been here in at least thirty two years.
It was clean, tidy, and smartly organized as always.
a workable kitchen, with a happy sink, she said.
I had missed her, and her fresh vegetables.
But now you are here, she said with a wink.
there was a man
a small man
-a little man
-a tiny man
a small little tiny
man who found a-tiny-small-little-something
he pulled on it -and realized it had give
he pulled -this stretchy-little-small-tiny
thing and it kept stretching this was when the
small man - who was a flimflam man after all
realized he had a workable-fraud
realized he had found something
big -really-big it was more than a
stretchy band it was a movement
one he’d sstretchh beyond one’s expectations
you could recognize him -by his large
*mouth - and by his *tiny little hands
*optional
you may fill in the word *filthy before mouth
or before tiny or both as you please -please
armand~
Dimmed Eyes crack their shells first.
You rise up in the half light of a fading moment.
This is the plane – wait, tie a rope
hitch it to a trading places moment.
When you passed away
leaving a layer of makeup and clothes strewn
upon a tilting floor
the mind went wandering on its own,
it returns now with the debris it found
loosely bundled into a persona.
Twist some knots into memory.
Plan a-head, then insert body
as an Allen key does into the right
socket.
Be sure to leave your big red heart plug
jammed tightly into this matrix of
electrified reality.
Loose ends can dangle for a while.
You’re within a workable shape now,
you’re fingers in a glove.
Time to shuffle self-consciously
from behind the lens,
let eyes see what no other being can see,
for your hand-made once more,
spun-out into an opaque silk by mind-moths
and now can fly blind
utterly unnoticed.
He used to be a hoarder of clues
would keep them in a mind-binder.
Imagine the surprise
when all the clues turned into blank pages
It happens,
a person has a thousand ways
to figure out this world.
He thought he saw some patterns
in this messy conundrum of reality
He had conjectured – had formed workable theories
had constructed reasonable solutions for all the big puzzles
that bewildered and bedeviled other folks.
Then poof….all his clues became unglued.
Now he knows nothing for sure
He tries to write
about all the clues he once had
but he has lost faith in clues
especially missing clues,
even when they seem to hint at answers
point to explanations or breakthroughs
or allude to a better understanding,
one as clear as daylight perhaps -
not even.
He doesn’t trust the clear light of day either
but wonders now
what that light is hiding?
I'm not much attached to this body,
it feels like it's on a short leash
while the brain drags it around
like a reluctant old dog.
Long cantankerous years
have pummeled it into a shape
it never used to own, never saw coming.
I am by no means special
we all acquire these 'special' parts,
that cling to us like limpets and lichen
many are visible only to the mind.
Tree's show their scars on the outside
internal excrescences run deeper.
Wasted landscapes never repopulated
are sutured integral with still verdant fields,
still workable earth
but we know
that vehicles this unwieldy
have no fail-safe switch
even if we could find it.
ruthless restrictions road to reluctance
but not rapturous results
PLACED : 1st
WORK PERSPECTIVE MONOKU Poetry Contest
Monoku poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Beata Agustin
Date: 05-05-2022
The Words, “I Can’t”
Miracle Man
3/14/2022
“I can’t” is a phrase
frequently bandied about.
Words that originate
in a mind cloaked in doubt.
We could just as easily say
“I think I can”.
Then scramble to search
for a workable game plan.
“Your English is good,”
It is a common compliment.
And the next line goes like,
” Where did you learn that?”
I, an ordinary soul,
digest the mixed feeling about that,
without uttering a word.
I am still deciding on building a workable resume.
A creative one. To be more precise.
Where life and work
balances
down
the line of creativity.
And I am still deciding on a working influence of a poetic line.
I gave up
on the world
long, long ago.
Cliches of long-lost words.
Not on poetry.
Colorless water,
makes our life colorful.
It covers seventy percent of our body,
makes body strong and workable.
It’s a universal solvent,
capable to dissolve more substances than any other liquid.
Without water
future can’t be expected.
We need to conserve it as seen the misuse by the bodies.
It’s time to think,
for the purity of the soul, which is within you.
It's time to realize,
for the betterment of the future.
conserve water, save life
save the world within we lie.
God of atoms
break my purpose,
my workable clay.
Feed me
clumps of sorrow,
sods of joy
one particle at a time.
Seed me not too much
of your breakable sadness,
plow me much
with your passions.
Allow me, if it please you,
to dwell in this intricate husk
until the sky
make a nest in its marrow.
Let the dirt
of my fingernails
guide me inward
into your blooms.
And when I am ready
for the reaping
scatter my worms.
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