"flummoxed" poems
**How many faces you wish?
For you are not true to your own
Can you bear the burden of many?
Posing as everyone, but you
Even the mirror will be flummoxed
Ashamed to show the real you
Maybe a face forgotten long ago
Waging a war against yourself
An army of many faces adopted
Will bring you to the gallows
That will be the end to your identity
When you will be unmasked**
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
~weary weighted~
flummoxed are the sea watchers;
the long rhythms of sea change reveal only minor modesties,
difficult discerned are the tidal subtleties
though repetitive thrashing extracts it toll,
only the weary-weighted see the true meaning of the beating,
knowing full well,
it beats for them
recalling their early day’d fascination with its endless chaining,
now knowing all are similar
detained-chained,
and the ******* churning but a cover up masque,
they need not longer conceal,
an unrevealed confess:
water is heavy-weighted, you cannot forever float,
constancy is of a thing to be wary,
its sadder longevity,
a chipping away erosion of wearing,
*‘tis is the knelling noise of sad respite,
an unlight lighthouse*
~for Victoria, a year later~
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,
I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!
Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,
I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!
For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,
Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!
Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,
A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!
Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,
Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,
Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!
Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;
I finagle in my filigree!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
the people whose job is to
understand the multiverse
can't figure this world out
rid·dle ˈridl/noun: riddle; plural noun: riddles
1. | a question or statement intentionally
phrased so as to require ingenuity
in ascertaining its answer or meaning,
typically presented as a game;
a person, event, or fact that is difficult
to understand or explain.
"the riddle of her death" [puz·zle
ˈpəzəl/verb: puzzle; 3rd person present:
puzzles; past tense: puzzled; past participle:
puzzled; gerund or present participle:
puzzling
1. cause (someone) to feel confused because
they cannot understand or make sense of something:
"one remark he made puzzled me"
synonyms: perplex, confuse, bewilder,
bemuse, baffle, mystify, confound;
faze, stump, beat, discombobulate
"her decision puzzled me"
perplexed, confused, bewildered,
bemused, baffled, mystified, confounded,
nonplussed, at a loss, at sea;
flummoxed, stumped, fazed, clueless,
discombobulated
"a puzzled look on her face"
baffling, perplexing, bewildering, confusing, complicated, unclear, mysterious, enigmatic, ambiguous, obscure, abstruse, unfathomable, incomprehensible, impenetrable, cryptic
"his explanation was rather puzzling"
antonyms: clear
think hard about something difficult
to understand or explain;
"she was still puzzling over this problem
when she reached the office"
| [ ] think hard about, mull over,
muse over, ponder, contemplate,
meditate on,
consider, deliberate on, chew over, wonder about
"she puzzled over the problem"
solve or understand something by thinking hard;
synonyms: work out, understand,
comprehend, sort out, reason out, solve, make sense of,
make head(s) or tail(s) of, unravel, decipher; informal: figure out
"she tried to puzzle out what he meant"
noun: puzzle; plural noun: puzzles
1. [ ], [ ] ( );
a game, toy, or problem designed
to test ingenuity or knowledge;
short for jigsaw puzzle (see jigsaw)
a person or thing that is difficult to understand
or explain; an enigma:
"the meaning of this poem will always be a paradox"
synonyms: enigma, mystery, paradox,
conundrum, poser, riddle, problem, quandary;
"the poem has always been a puzzle"
late 16th century (as a verb): of unknown origin:
synonyms: puzzle, conundrum, brainteaser, problem,
unsolved problem, question, poser, enigma,
quandary; informal: stumper
"an answer to the riddle"
verb/archaic
verb: riddle; 3rd person present: riddles;
past tense: riddled; past participle: riddled;
gerund or present participle: riddling
1. speak in or pose riddles.
"he who knows not how to riddle"
solve or explain (a riddle) to (someone).
"riddle me this then"
Origin
Old English rǣdels, rǣdelse ‘opinion,
conjecture, riddle’; related
to Dutch raadsel,
German Rätsel, to read
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
for vicki who loves this poem for the best reason ever: just does...
<•>
read a thousand love stories,
pause, rest awhile,
read ten thousand more,
and then deny equality.
If you ask for no more than you can give,
you ask for not enough
love is imbalance not an equation,
with a single solution
love has both constants and variable factors
so you write of tribulations and tributes
so you write of lamentations and liftings
you think you are on the same page
perhaps
but do we not all read at different paces?
one of you is solid, one is dotted and dashed
one of you is straight, one is bent, forever curving
when you think you are
in balance
in the same place
in syncopation
perhaps you are for a moment
a calculus of one point on a trajectory
and you say I can only ask for what I give
and am given
and no more,
you have miscalculated
this flux
flummoxed
when the old terrain is flayed flat
but thru the windshield you see the
plateau ends, the geography unknown,
when you see unknown
when you seek the unknown
when you give from places you did not know
you had to give from
when you kiss a hand
for twenty minutes more than than the one minute you intended
when you give more than is asked
when you ask for more than you can you think you can give
the imbalance that is the only concert
the imbalance that is the the only constant
how do I know this?
what are my credentials?
you are not a teenage girl,
what matters of what you know, recall of these matters?
I am who I am
a diversity of man and manner;
I am past prime and in decline
but this I know
for having failed ten thousand poem times
you must ask for more than one can give
but that's not fair!
silly one, still wretched confused,
even after one hundred thousand poem times
you must ask of
yourself
more than you can give
and ask no less
demand no less
a body in emotion is not a body in rest
when the imbalance is too great or insufficient
then you write a poem
look in the mirror that cannot lie
and move
on
or
move off
begin to ask
yourself
to whom may I give myself
more than is asked.
then you have finally asked
the correct solution to the
unsolvable equation
---
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
**** These...
... Liars And LIARS... !!!
Aren’t These Folks TIRED... ?!?
of ALL of Their Lies...
Deceit And YES Crimes... !!!
Cos’ It’s A CRIME To DENY...
The Truth From The Minds...
of Those Who SUPPORT...
What Comes From Their Jaws... !!!
These Days There’s A WAR...
On The TRUTH Now For Sure... !!!
From Rooms of BIG Boards...
To Those Filled With LORDS...
And This Year's ENSURED...
That Corona Has FORCED... !!!
MANY To... QUESTION... ?!?
If LIES Have Been Spreading...
MORE Than The Infection... !?!
And This... U.S. Election...
Has POOR Vote Collections... !!!
That Has Donald Trump...
And His People Flummoxed... ?!?
Because They’ve Been STUNNED...
By The Votes For... Biden... !!!
Having Claimed That He’d Won...
BEFORE... Postal Ballots...
Started To Cause DAMAGE...
To His Hopes To Inhabit...
The Whitehouse And Manage...
Like Some New Age Fascist... !!!
Or... Is THAT A LIE... ?!?
When He Could Be The Guy...
To Set The World Right... ?
And To Stop Paedophiles...
Who Are From Wealthy Tribes... !!!
Or... Is THAT FAKE News... ?
And Simply... UNTRUE... ?!?
Now I DON'T Have A Clue...
Unlike... Q'ANON Crews... !!!!
Whose Theories Are Deemed...
To Now Be... FALLACIES...
By These Media Teams...
Who Of Course NEVER LIE... !!!
Because Their Talk Is PURE...
And Don’t Meddle With Child... !?!
I Think There Are LIARS...
Whose Pants Are On FIRE...
Who... Should Be Retired... !!!
From Feeding Us News...
With Their Bias In View... !!!
As If It Is... " COOL "...
To Keep The Truth Skewed... !?!
When … Many of Them...
MAY BE Paedophiles Too... ?!?
When They’re In The Blend...
And Clearly Have Spent...
Time With Names … ALLEGED...
To Have Messed With Children... !!!
Something’s INCORRECT...
When Those That PRESENT...
Are QUICK To Suggest...
That They And Their Friends...
Are Cleaner Than Sheen... !!!
... NOT Charlie... !!!
... The CLEANER...
That Keeps Surfaces Clean... !!!
Well To Me Their Demeanour...
Needs A Bit More Inspection...
Just Like This Election...
of... TWENTY TWENTY... !!!
Where It Seems That...
... Court Scenes...
Will Define Who Will Be...
In The Presidents Seat...
America’s Shrouded...
In Much That Is Clouded...
And May Well Reveal...
A World of FALLACIES... !!!
Where LIARS Are PLACED...
In A Place Where They Make...
Decisions For MASSES...
Where Lies Become Standard...
And Be Things That RAVAGE...
Through CORPORATE SAVAGE...
And Liars Who Package...
New Falsehoods To DAMAGE...
A Future Where Freedoms...
And Lives Keep COLLAPSING...
Because of These Leaders...
Who’ll Leave The Truth CRASHING... !!!
The Future Looks TRAGIC...
When Elections Cause PANIC... !!!
PROTESTS And … Madness...
That Leave Things Unbalanced... !!!
Where Newsrooms Conspire...
... To Be FALSIFIERS...
of What... SHOULD Be Desired...
Reports That Speak TRUTH...
Instead of... FAKE News... !!!
That Clearly Requires...
An ABUNDANCE of...
...... “ LIARS “...... !!!
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 1:33 AM UTC
**They call me a canker,
they say I'm deceptive,
with an absinthe in my hand,
They call me a cahoot,
Abandoned in an abattoir,
They made me a psychopath,
They hurt me and beat me,
With all they had,
I said I am what I am,
They say am possesed,
With black magic,perhaps,
or maybe just a dark spirit,
So collapsed,
They say I look daunting,
Someone who's flummoxed,
Someone who's forlorn,
And a little hoodlum,
but i simply can't make them understand,
I am a labyrinth,
Full of difficult,
passages and paths,
Through which finding out is complicated,
I've had macabres,
which i handled by machetes,
The madder i got,
The smarter they,fed it,
With heaves of sickness,
they got me misspelt,
They didn't know that,
I, a psychopath,
was "okay" in my own way,
they mistreated me,
Misplaced me,
Misunderstood me,
Underestimated me,**
Look! I've come up!
still they were they,
They didn't stop,
So I cut them,
And beat them,
And scared their crap out!
Hit me with a dagger,
Hit me with a knife,
I'LL STILL BE ME,
EVEN IN MY NEXT LIFE.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
on the back numerous hole
quite a few too on the chest
still it clings to my soul
I think it fits me best.
says my flummoxed wife
you’re a miser hopeless
holding on a rag for life
bringing yourself disgrace.
I feign not to hear and shrug
clutching it more to my heart
feeling warm cosy in its hug
my friend the many years’ shirt.
on it lie rivers of sweat
joy and sorrow’s tear stains
time’s all burden of weight
gloomy and dark hours’ pains.
a mere cloth and I find it so hard
to throw it and part our ways
wonder how humans discard
relations grown over years.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 7:54 AM UTC
read a thousand love stories,
pause, rest awhile,
read ten thousand more,
and then deny equality.
If you ask for no more than you can give,
you ask for not enough
love is imbalance not an equation,
with a single solution
love has both constants and variable factors
so you write of tribulations and tributes
so you write of lamentations and liftings
you think you are on the same page
perhaps
but do we not all read at different paces?
one of you is solid, one is dotted and dashed
one of you is straight, one is bent, forever curving
when you think you are
in balance
in the same place
in syncopation
perhaps you are for a moment
a calculus of one point on a trajectory
and you say I can only ask for what I give
and am given
and no more,
you have miscalculated
this flux
flummoxed
when the old terrain is flayed flat
but thru the windshield you see the
plateau ends, the geography unknown,
when you see unknown
when you seek the unknown
when you give from places you did not know
you had to give from
when you kiss a hand
for twenty minutes more than than the one minute you intended
when you give more than is asked
when you ask for more than you can you think you can give
the imbalance is the only concert
the imbalance is the the only constant
how do I know this?
what are my credentials?
you are not a teenage girl,
what matters of what you know of these matters?
I am who I am
a diversity of man and manner
I am past prime and in decline
but this I know
for having failed ten thousand poem times
you must ask for more than one can give
but that's not fair!
silly one, still wretched confused,
even after one hundred
thousand poem times
you must ask of
yourself
more than you can give
and ask no less
demand no less
a body in emotion is not a body in rest
when the imbalance is too great or insufficient
then you write a poem
look in the mirror that cannot lie
and move
on
or
move
off
and begin to ask
yourself
to whom may I give myself
more than is asked
then you have finally asked
the correct solution to the
unsolvable equation
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
Discombobulated and flabbergasted, flummoxed indeed? No such bemused and befuddled? I am not perplexed on the prognosis to prospectus. They’re incongruous, I’m incredulous, it’s catawampus. Reconnaissance reconnoiter, rectilinear reciprocal rectitude. Radix repartee: Down here at the bizarre bazaar we all believe in the blasphemous farcical fugue-ness, estranged ensemble orchestrations and all. Some of us are even into the various assorted forms of related stranger weirdness. We’ll be having none of this putrid quasi queasy. Corrupt costume counselor siren skeptic. None of you ignominiously pusillanimous incorrigibles who aren’t brave enough to love are required.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
Flummoxed,
In labyrinths of
Baleful forests with
eyes of gibbet makers
and buried undertakers
through gloaming sights,
hobbling towards the light.
The silver teeth of
obeisance sundering will,
plundering peace,
blazoning smiles of
malicious beings.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
read a thousand love stories,
pause, rest awhile,
read ten thousand more,
and then deny equality.
If you ask for no more than you can give,
you ask for not enough
love is imbalance not an equation,
with a single solution
love has both constants and variable factors
so you write of tribulations and tributes
so you write of lamentations and liftings
you think you are on the same page
perhaps
but do we not all read at different paces?
one of you is solid, one is dotted and dashed
one of you is straight, one is bent, forever curving
when you think you are
in balance
in the same place
in syncopation
perhaps you are for a moment
a calculus of one point on a trajectory
and you say I can only ask for what I give
and am given
and no more,
you have miscalculated
this flux
flummoxed
when the old terrain is flayed flat
but thru the windshield you see the
plateau ends, the geography unknown,
when you see unknown
when you seek the unknown
when you give from places you did not know
you had to give from
when you kiss a hand
for twenty minutes more than than the one minute you intended
when you give more than is asked
when you ask for more than you can you think you can give
the imbalance is the only concert
the imbalance is the the only constant
how do I know this?
what are my credentials?
you are not a teenage girl,
what matters of what you know of this matters?
I am who I am
a diversity of man and manner
I am past prime and in decline
but this I know
for having failed ten thousand poem times
you must ask for more than one can give
but that's not fair!
silly one, still wretched confused,
even after one hundred
thousand poem times
you must ask of
yourself
more than you can give
and ask no less
demand no less
a body in emotion is not a body in rest
when the imbalance is too great or insufficient
then you write a poem
look in the mirror that cannot lie
and move
on
or
move
off
and begin to ask
yourself
to whom may I give myself
more than is asked
then you have finally asked
the correct solution to the
unsolvable equation
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
the farmgirl with the green flecks in her anime eyes
is snoozing in her van. it's afternoon and she's lost her ruby slippers. she knows not where.
she charms the water fleas with her clean teeth.
she gropes through the ampules of her ample ***** where her heart is like a fox and hound.
in a glass forest. the otherwise, warm porridge is the cruel gruel of her next poem.
she gnaws on the nape of her next unborn. the naked rube of her snipe hunt
on a night with no moon.
she doesn't mind either.
her kites fly, un-flummoxed in the effulgent. unchained in the Quixote of our windmills. distilled
by charcoal fences. a net of screens, nimbly deployed across the hinterlands
of our possibilities.
now " who could that be ? "
agnes is calling and i know she just wants her computer fixed.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
My roommates and I congregated in our suite's great room and we’ll head out for dinner soon.
“Have you ever eaten dog food?” Leong asked Anna.
“No,” Anna answered, “it smells like chicken - it’s got chicken in it”
“OOO!” Leong pounces, “Busted!!”
“What?!” Anna reacts.
“How would you know that then?” Leong asks, doubtfully.
“My mom told me!” Anna cries, in self defense. “She’s a vegetarian too.”
“Your mom told you.” Leong said, like a prosecutor raising an eyebrow for the jury.
“I just took my last English class,” I report, pony-tailing my hair, “my teacher told me - privately - that my writing destroys.”
“Nice,” Lisa says.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling and grooming with pride, “I thought that was a ballin’ complement and I’ve been riding that high.”
“No doubt,” Anna says and nods.
“My English professor..” Leong says, exasperated, “is driving me crazy, I’ve written three final papers so far and she’s rejected them ALL.”
“Huh?” I gasp, “Show me one!” I demand, wiggling gimmie-fingers at her laptop.
“Here’s a question,” Lisa asks the room, “What would you change about your childhood?”
“I would have never grown up.” Sophy said.
“When I was in third grade, in the UK, a girl in my elementary school, was murdered,” I reveal.
“What?!” Anna says.
“Oh, my GOD!” Lisa gasps.
“Spill” Leong demands.
“Her name was Kennedy,” I begin, “She was in another class, I didn’t know her but I started to imagine that I’d known her. I’d think of her playing on the swings in a yellow dress, in daydreams and in nightmares.”
“I can see that,” Leong said.
“I was flummoxed, at the time, how a family could lose a little girl and a president.” I added.
Anna looked confused.
“I was in third grade,” I replied, ”what did I know?”
“Go ON,” Lisa prompts.
“We heard that she was walking home and got snatched,” I continued.
“Jesus,” Lisa said, shaking her head.
“Although I never walked home, I was careful not to be snatched for a while,” I summarized.
“I bet,” Anna agreed.
“That’s what I’d change,” I said, “Poor Kennedy.”
“People **** Lisa pronounced, and there was general agreement to that.
Apr 29, 2022
Apr 29, 2022 at 1:45 PM UTC
There are sometimes just too many words,
to use, to pick or say,
we think we have them sorted,
and then they slip away.
We know the right ones
and plan what ones to use,
until we get all flummoxed,
leaving ourselves confused.
I used to be good with words,
but they've vanished from my lips,
if you're good with words yourself,
please give me some tips!
Apr 17, 2022
Apr 17, 2022 at 4:39 AM UTC
Sensations that urge the detection of the greatest restraint and circumspection; the abruptness of spontaneous interruptions sprout volcanic internal eruptions full of relevant abundance
Flummoxed by the changes in the script; engaging wonder as suppressed thoughts are written on your face; withholding the ache as ebullient vivacity shakes you awake
Carrying a mischievous vividness full of cogent stimulus – fruitful affirmations of levelheaded, sanguine acceptance and unalloyed quiescence
Redesigning aspects of existence with unabridged persistence – receiving silent guidance from above by the means of scintillating messages lighting the living flame of love.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
A feeling as inevitable as the return of the clouds,
or the ebb and flow of the tide, rolls over me.
Brought in by the smell of ozone just before the first drops of rain fall;
their quiet sound shattering the peace of the soil microcosm,
mirroring the dissonance within my own being.
As I sit on the porch of a dilapidated house I can feeling my gears turn,
mismatched cogs grinding up thoughts and emotions,
Their essence fueling the furnace bellow,
an archaic mechanism that was built to burn.
Somewhere along the line it was caused by a mistake in the design,
one purely chemical and utterly inevitable.
Every engineer flummoxed by the nonsensical complexity,
a system without rhyme or rhythm,
held together by some chance of fate.
Winter is the only relief for the endless heat generated within,
gradually cooling parts to the point where one can fiddle within,
each moving part worn thin, lasting just long enough...
Temporary fixes suffice, while on this endless search for a true solution,
a pair of kind thoughtful hands tempered enough to stand the heat,
one perspicacious enough to rearrange the parts within,
a new design that will cease the burning.
The essence of my being has long since been locked deep within,
my body is both the cage an a coffin I some day hope to escape.
It's an inevitable struggle I must face each day,
looking for someone who will find me and take me by the hand,
pulling my soul up out of the depths of it's mechanical prison.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 6:37 PM UTC
Blue rinse and set
home done.
Meant the colour changed every time,
from shades of pale lilac...
to electric neon light.
Always wave set never permed.
Hair too fine.
She was what they,
termed politely,
in those days:
"a large ***** woman."
Corseted nine to five,
in matrons whites.
Jiggly in a flambouyant orange muu muu by night.
A spinster, devoted to work and extended family,
large of heart and appetite.
A soft place to fall,
when the stonelike,
stoicism of my mother, became to harsh to bear.
I was flummoxed,
when in my teens,
I found a dog eared,
Kama Sutra,
in my blue haired aunts cupboard.
I can honestly say....
I learnt a lot... about a lot ...that day.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
I could not tell you of where, when or how
Or why or whence or with whom
It began.
All I can speak of is what I perceive
My neurons oblivious of floor plan.
Gray matter confabulates my wisdom,
Muddles synaptic impulse.
Confused nerves,
Travel unsheathed in an unpatterned grid
Relay scrambled message with undue verve.
Concerto fifth, notes ripple through the air
I hear not this music rich
But I see
Colours of infinite depth ebb and flow
Sounds live in my eyes, lines swirl and flurry.
Waning sun kissing the horizon deep
I see not this beauty pure
But I smell
Warm scent of sweet cinnamon and jasmine
Pictures translated to redolent swell.
Olfactory bliss of soft infant kiss
I smell not this fragrance warm
But I feel
Velvet satin touch caressing my skin
Scents flow as mercury on fingers sealed.
Hypnotic pressure of pebbles underfoot
I feel not this kneading joy
But I taste
Caramelised coat cut by bold sour storm
Tactility morphs into scrumptious paste.
Palate aglow under five course repast
I taste not this saucy feast
But I hear
Melodious blend of pitch and cadence
Flavour unwrapped in acoustics of my ear.
My topsy-turvy world
Created
By my poor flummoxed nerves.
Never a listless moment
Dished up by
Crossing neurons as they swerve.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
"I am impossible to please,
with poetry or anything else"
I am stunned by your beauty,
yet, flummoxed by this stubbornness.
Golden sun does caress your face,
and highlight lovely curls,
reminding me this, yet again,
nothing stays for ever.
Up the hill through a winding path,
you lead me from the front,
look out point did invite,
you didn't pay any heed.
On sundown, when we go down,
hold my hand, stand close to my side,
view those blue hills at the farthest,
you'll change and understand.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 1:53 PM UTC
in the song of robin and blackbird
Creator signs His Name
A name that can be seen and heard
by those who shun acclaim
in the work of scribe and artist
shines the inner being
in the music of drum or harpist
speaks the soul all-seeing
in the works o' nefarious schemer
in darkest destruction 'n death
in the silence that shouts like screamer
in absence of life-giving breath
walks the many-faced serpent schemer
for those with eyes to see
the signature of the anti-redeemer
antithesis of eternity
for every person stamps their name
in the deeds they do
igniting hellish fires 'n flame
or letting G-d shine through
so don't be flummoxed by this world
keep your eyes on your goal
for as cherry, almond, or walnut burled
your acts bespeak your soul
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 7:59 AM UTC
I wish I could explain it to you, but I can’t.
You’d have to walk around with me for a month
or so for it to make sense,
to seem like a real thing.
Sometimes, it’s not even real to me;
but it’s my life and
I’m the one walking around in it,
so there it is.
In the fall and winter,
particularly around the holidays,
it gets worse. Some days,
especially during the last two weeks
before Christmas,
it gets really bad.
(Why do I think it’s a bad thing?)
(Is it?)
(What is this about?)
They come at me like zombies
when they see the crutches
and yet I refuse to blame my Cerebral Palsy
for what they do.
Really, I believe that they’d show up anyway.
I think that they, and I to a degree,
feel some sort of cosmic pull
toward one another.
The drunks come to me.
(the developmentally disabled too.)
They tell me stories of how they ended up
in the same place that I am.
They tell me that they know also
that our paths were supposed to cross.
They tell me about their relationship with God
and how Jesus loves them in spite of their drunkenness
(or impairment.)
They tell me how blessed we are to have met.
That one always leaves me flummoxed.
All I wanted to do was eat a tenderloin and some fries.
All I wanted was a cup of coffee or a beer.
All I wanted was to occupy a small bit of
grey space for a couple of hours.
These cohabitates,
these space-stealers
always go straight for The Bible.
They talk of rapture
And the wholeness that I’ll
find in The Kingdom of Heaven
and I want to tell them that they’ve
taken some of that wholeness for
themselves, but I can’t.
I always say: “Thank you.”
And speak to them in
bumper-sticker platitudes;
telling them that we’re all
making our own ways
down our own paths.
And, it’s true, but I don’t want
to have to say it.
I don’t always want to believe it.
(And, I don’t always.)
I wish I could tell them that I want to be more like them,
to work in a factory,
lift the heavy stuff;
to work steadily on the line
or over the road,
inside the grey spaces
with more time to think,
to be quietly oaken
and iron.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC