Art.
A
Release of
Tension
squiggles make me smile, looks like dancing in ink
line sketched zigging or zagging on purpose, leave room left to think
eraser shavings from every Mark drawn. where your mind said,
"no such thing as happy accidents"
having learned a real artist,
makes friends with freshly painted trees.
whispers to the babbling brooks, as the water trickles down.
Relaxing under the shade of the tree that you just drew on your notebook
putting yourself out there with squiggles and zig zags
a
release of
tension
art
Soaring so high
fanning the fire
spontaneity angel
of infinite desire.
Sampling the grain
exposing the
straight jacket gang...
love spilling shade
spitting lye and blue rain.
Then they deem you insane.
What they can't control
what they can't contain
they shame into silence then cage
feather and flame
sweet feather and flame.
Feather and flame
golden heart splayed then flayed.
On silver sleeves of stained-glass dreams.
They wish to stain the tigress untamed
what they can't control
what they can't conceive
to blind to see
monolithic egos
of white-hot conceit.
Feather and flame
flying so high
cornucopia of love
Capricorn on fire.
A meteor shower
chandelier cutting the gray
robin egg sky
feather and flame.
Feather and flame
precious petal ordained.
zig-zagging soul
sparkling eye
torn and alone
just another name
on a forgotten stone.
Teetering, seething random things.
Dragon-like hopelessness.
Rough and zig-zagging.
With eyes.
Or other senses.
With teeth and also roots.
Tippy-toe disaster senses.
Songs I pretend are dust but aren’t.
I had enough freezer burnt hair.
And computer ears.
There’s tangible stuff everywhere.
The stuff that gets eaten.
That gets low battery mode, and still lives!
Not much can come back from being that way.
Like taste buds.
Drop out over a sour attitude.
I really don’t know how to explain the gargling fresh cut grass feeling.
I have a lot of tangible things in this life.
Got hit by a freeze ray anyway.
Zealous zombies searching,
Zipping around affright,
Zigging and then zagging,
Zapping all those in sight.
Zephyrs zoom behind them
Zestful with fungal blight.
Zany fun Hallows Night!
The taxi speeds down the highway
zig zagging to miss the potholes.
It slows as a horse and cart crosses,
followed by the owner's dog.
On the other carriageway people wait
hoping someone will give them a lift.
An old Cadillac smokes its way down the road.
In the town, buildings are like well-worn pairs of shoes –
they fit, still function but have seen better days.
But the people are well nourished, clothed and clean.
Smiles of genuine happiness are all around.
This is a country which lives to a different pulse -
Ché its heartbeat,
Fidel its lifeblood.
People are living the revolution where others have failed –
common wellbeing before personal gain,
society’s hallmark is equality and colour-blindness.
Educated and cultured, enjoyment is beyond the material.
Musical rhythms set the daily pace.
There is a determination to live and succeed despite hardship.
But is it only hardship when seen through Western eyes?
The freedom of spirit is to be admired.
But what does the future hold?
The greatest challenge is yet to come –
influx of other peoples from not so far away.
¡Cubana!
Forgotten quanta
the neglecton an anyon
zero in the math—
particles once discarded
unlock quantum computers
Rising unobserved
they shimmer in golden glass
zig-zagging unseen—
how was brilliance unnoticed
in gobble-goop of a yawn
I too drift unheard
neglected in crowded rooms
my pulse fading slow—
a particle in shadow
longing to be recognized
Quiet weep
This inspiring song strongly reinforces our global beliefs, originating from the depths of Africa. The chorus has gained considerable popularity online. While some may argue that it is more radical than spiritual, I respectfully disagree. It resonates deeply with those who hold these beliefs
“No turning back” comes with a lot of meaning, behind this chorus line
I know of a lot of Genz who do believe in religion
But to see how they react to the chorus “I have decided to follow Jesus
Make us believe that we can conquer the devil.
They took up, they crossed and followed thee
Was it the beat in the songs or the lyrics that inspired so many
Of them to get up and dance along?
As poets, we might refer to this as zigging and zagging,
As Genz will probably say, free up your minds
I would say trust the song, not the singer
Distressing without demonstrating.
Camping without thinking,
Moving gracefully without political approvals
Let them see the youth at their best.
And more things as the Caribbean would
They come to play. No turning back
Clear at the edges, I can see every ripple of sand on the bed of the ocean as I swim.
Towards the centre of the beach the sea becomes opaque,
The sand churned up by the waves and the greater depth obscuring the bottom.
Then, as I reach the far end of the bay it becomes clear again:
Small shifts in the miniature dunes beneath
With each gentle wave
Flurries of sand, stirred up then settle down again
Tiny fish the colour of the sea bed, zip along the bottom
Zig-zagging in groups of two or three
Visible only because of their small black eyes
I raise my head and see the small cape rise above me
The rocks the same colour as the sand beneath
And the same colour as my skin
The deep dark greenery covering much of the face of the rock
Lush and impenetrable, to me at least
Though I know that snakes and ground birds and insects thrive there
To be surrounded by this much joy and life
To feel permeate my being.
The eagle circles high in the air, watching a mouse just leaving its lair.
With wide sloping turns he comes ever near hoping his prey won't know that he's there.
Blinded by the sun and driven by hunger the little mouse bewildered from its winter slumber, senses no fear.
But death is there, circling, watching, it waits.
The little mouse freezes sensing its fate. Can it make it to safety before it's too late?
The eagles' eyes narrow, its talons extend, the time for waiting has come to its end.
He dives, the mouse runs: zig zagging through the grass.
The play of life plays on, who of them will win?
If not this mouse, then another for the eagle on the wind.
Patches of snow are left behind
A patchwork, in the lawn to find
Zig zagging flights, songs can be heard
Different directions, from each bird
They are now, talking about spring
In bright sunlight, the blue skies bring
Flowers wait to show their faces
Soon, their smiles will be all places
Joining the birds in a spring show
As warmth designs the melting snow
So much movement has caught my eye
Winter, it's time to say goodbye
Heidi Sands
4/9/24
8 syllables
(C)opyright
Psychology is the study of how we are all so predictable.
Brains, brains. Our brains teach us when to flinch, and when to hurt.
Nature is sparkling and unwavering.
We are only unwavering.
Unlike nature, we are all pretending.
As if we are tricking those scientists.
By zig-zagging like an unknown creature.
But they know and they watch.
We are creatures, but we are known.
No matter where we hide,
In the jagged forest.
Those psychologists know our patterns.
Those psychologists just know.
I am a furious force
you dare not reckon with when I am at my peak!
Assassin of startled vegetation,
I attack with no mercy or compassion.
Limbs of trees – laden with snowfall that I bring -
snap off as easily as heads of dolls
in the hands of a psychotic child.
Such is the magnitude of my strength
at the mere exhalation of my frigid blustering breath.
I roar and I rush, and in my path of blinding white,
some on foot have lost their way -
later to be discovered (if found at all)
frozen like human popsicles, some yet to even thaw.
Most vehicles on highways have no chance with me.
Zig-zagging off roads, they land in snowdrifts.
Tires spin uselessly, and for a time,
these machines of great convenience are temporarily doomed
as their occupants shiver from cold and fear.
At my zenith, I howl and I rant relentlessly.
Pray that should you meet me
that you are not too far from any buildings.
Pray too that if you should cross my path
that you will not be stuck upon a mountain.
There is where I reign supreme,
shrouding frozen creeks, pines and rocks of cliffs
with my snowy showy glory.
Dec. 29, 2022
for the "Winter Storm" Poetry Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Zombies Zooming Zapping Zinging Zig Zagging
At the front row gain a flag off,
as compared to them in the back.
So the life underdogged,
starting by the rulers.
Zig zagging through a bulk of them,
maneuvered without wings.
I’m gonna bonk at 15 miles.
So life is bonked, trying suck all of the drops.
Gotta slow down as life rotes.
The pace slaps in head, hallucinate the finish line.
As life dreams of the dead, when the gold is ironed.
Unsolicited advice
against its storm I brace
Showing no fear or shame
as they get up in my face
In other words ...
They tell me to zig
when I'm zagging
"Hurry up man!"
when I'm lagging
"That's not the way
I'd do it!" they opine
"Better listen to me,
get to it!" every time
Hmm, if that's true
then I'll know
just what to do
when I am you!
More precisely ...
When I do what you say
in my own peculiar way
You stand
beaming with pride
taking credit
If I dare to complain
you declare me insane
then expose me to
ridicule on Reddit
(You don't regret it—
there, I've said it!)
Now I had my say
what will you do?
Hopefully MYOB
not misconstrue
"We just told you
the best way to go
You must listen to us
don’t you know?”
Thanks! If that's true
then I'll know
just what to do
when I am you!
As odd as that sounds
it must be true
I'll be doing sooo much better
when I am you!
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