"presided" poems
Let’s start with a reminder:
President Harding,
President Woodrow Wilson,
President McKinley,
President Calvin Coolidge
& President Harry S. Truman--
Harry giving them hell in my lifetime,
In my time—
An ever so proximate reminder--
These were all Presidents of the U.S. of A.
Also, KKK Members.
Warren G. Harding, for Christ’s sake,
Was actually sworn into the Ku Klux ****
At a **** ceremony
Astonishingly conducted,
Inside the White House,
Presided over by Wizard Imperial of the Day,
The Honorable Colonel Simmons.
And I may as well throw in
Justice Hugo of the Supreme Court
Hugo Black in white robes,
While we’re on the subject of cultural memory,
To wit: the one Branch where Fairness
Is supposed to go with the territory.
You want to talk about race?
Hey, don’t get me started.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
This is a story of a peculiar fellow
Known to get rowdy but often mellow
He graduated, top of his class!
Harvard law, was the school he passed
Didn’t work hard, kind of a slacker
But, he had the look, whiter than a *******
Quickly started his own practice, as the story goes
With plenty of clients, that nobody knows
He began, quit good-hearted
Champion of the poor! As he started
But, that all changed so quick
The poor can’t pay; it finally clicked
So he went for clients, whose pockets were much louder
And often times, noses filled with white powder
He now worked less, and golfed a lot more
Representing the banks that originally off he swore
But, this is just as much of a story, of dear old poor Louie
Who never had fortune, misunderstood and gloomy
When one day, he caught a big break
The bank had made a terrible mistake
Their negligence, was due to pay millions
Especially to Louie, along with other civilians
So Louie hired the best attorney in town
A peculiar fellow, he made no sound
So the trial went on, and the judge presided
At the end of the day, the jury still was divided
Because the lawyer, got an offer he couldn’t resist
The banks gave him more money, so the trial he dismissed
Dear old poor Louie, again was left with nothing
No turkey for thanksgiving, not even the stuffing
He turned to the lawyer and let out a great yell
“You haven’t helped me the slightest” he tells
But, the world’s not always fair people often get cheated
Defeated and mistreated, depleted than deleted
The lawyers might help, but not much
Blinded by money, they often loose touch
So the lawyer turned and responded to dear old poor Louie
“What are you going to do? Sue me?”
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
i gravitate towards you
like a dusky desolate deposit of dirt
to its glimmering counterpart
of lapis lazuli, ridden with veins of gold
i reach and reach
to no avail
and i watch as you spin quickly away
stumbling and straightening before slipping into another stagnant spiral
how do i catch up to one
so quickly moving amongst the stars?
celestial bodies they may be
but i am a mere moon, reflecting light for your gaze
i can feel my muscles expanding and stretching
tendons taut with tension and
heart pounding and pounding away at the pavement
as i move forward and grasp outwards to you
but a mere millimeter of air becomes solid
and my knuckles crash against nothingness
instead of the warmth of your palm
which i'm not truly sure was even there to begin with
the darkness of this dying universe
is colder and more derelict than i have the capacity
to understand; and so i curl inwards
alone amongst pebbles and freely floating matter
because a moon without a planet
is simply an orb named vesta
or a goddess called hestia:
frequently forgotten and oft omitted
by those who claim to be scholars of myth, keepers of lore
and by extension, the very children she presided over
overseer of life and hearth nevermore.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
Pinnated clouds
spread like wisteria
along the horizons
waning axis. Farmland
is smothered
in arbitrary
purple leaflets.
The
humic red fabric
of a fallow field
convulses
on my eye under the
discordant,
astral confetti.
A sombre greyness
reclined and presided
over all: joyous
summer rain-cloud
but for the early years
icy resolve.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
Oh sharp diamond, my mother!
I could not count the cost
of all your faces, your moods--
that present that I lost.
Sweet girl, my deathbed,
my jewel-fingered lady,
your portrait flickered all night
by the bulbs of the tree.
Your face as calm as the moon
over a mannered sea,
presided at the family reunion,
the twelve grandchildren
you used to wear on your wrist,
a three-months-old baby,
a fat check you never wrote,
the red-haired toddler who danced the twist,
your aging daughters, each one a wife,
each one talking to the family cook,
each one avoiding your portrait,
each one aping your life.
Later, after the party,
after the house went to bed,
I sat up drinking the Christmas brandy,
watching your picture,
letting the tree move in and out of focus.
The bulbs vibrated.
They were a halo over your forehead.
Then they were a beehive,
blue, yellow, green, red;
each with its own juice, each hot and alive
stinging your face. But you did not move.
I continued to watch, forcing myself,
waiting, inexhaustible, thirty-five.
I wanted your eyes, like the shadows
of two small birds, to change.
But they did not age.
The smile that gathered me in, all wit,
all charm, was invincible.
Hour after hour I looked at your face
but I could not pull the roots out of it.
Then I watched how the sun hit your red sweater, your withered neck,
your badly painted flesh-pink skin.
You who led me by the nose, I saw you as you were.
Then I thought of your body
as one thinks of ******
Then I said Mary--
Mary, Mary, forgive me
and then I touched a present for the child,
the last I bred before your death;
and then I touched my breast
and then I touched the floor
and then my breast again as if,
somehow, it were one of yours.
1.6k
At Woodhenge's sacred circle
hut roused Mississipians
gathered in wintery bleakness
to track the golden crown's
ascent above the solstice post.
Their Solar Priest presided:
explaining,
blessing,
interpreting,
and assuring them all
that tomorrow's sun would rise
slightly farther to the north.
Last solstice morn at Cahokia,
latter day Mississippians
observed our red dwarf star
as it broke the tree - clad horizon,
inclined slightly to the right
and soared into cold December's sky.
Our Sun Priest, robed
in a ranger's jacket
in his own way:
explained,
blessed,
interpreted
and released us
to our journeys home -
assured that tomorrow's sun
again would climb the heavens
slightly farther to the north.
December, 2006
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 4:18 AM UTC
the words fluttered,
swung, swept, swooshed,
bemoaned, bereaved, bedazzled,
leapt, lauded, littered,
hovered, heckled, hiccuped,
made U-turns, took deep dips,
underwent saucy somersaults,
played like notes,
acted like songs,
usurped as oaths,
humbled as prayers,
slaughtered as killers,
punctuated, presided, presumed,
abetted, adhered, attacked
while the paper endured all with love.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 7:50 AM UTC
1979, A live broadcast, my father bid me come
to our new color TV set, the high pitched whine
it gave off muted by meaning
"remember this moment" he said
and we watched, in awed silence as
two men, Anwar Sadat and Menachem Begin shook hands
and our President presided
a cold peace at last
In retaliation for... Sadat was later shot through
the skull and died on a stage in a pool of warm blood
surrounded by his brethren
A letter dated 1944
My father's fingers trembled with it in his hands
He brought it out to show me
"I am the only survivor...all the rest are gone...
I am going to Israel"
Written hastily with pen and ink, our last
surviving relative who we know not of
bid farewell to Russia and was on track to a new land from the wellspring
of grief and ******
A Jew, my father
A half Jew am I and would have been all the same
to the **** killing machine I thought one languishing summer day
as I ate unripe apples with small wormholes at a farm
full of horses
Safe in the quiet, if uncaring peace of a world far away
from dead Nazis and the abandoned killing centers
Rabin Square in Tel Aviv, 2003
We walked through at night, my husband and I
A large empty space in a city without largeness or emptiness
We walk without recognition
as it is now just a place and not only a shrine
But I linger to look at one corner
At an embedded sculpture of confused cement blocks
jagged angles and useless plains, rendered in immobile lasting cement
a testament to futility
It is pain, frustration and the sickness of human violence--
Itzak Rabin
who was shot and bled to death
in a crowd in the dust of his also unknown and forgotten ancestors
in retaliation for the hope of peace
News of more bombs today
Fresh death
Mangled human potential rendered useless
In retaliation for...
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
been feelin' lousy lately
lethargic
lacking in energy and appetite
nauseated
something is wrong
it is a virus?
or a backlash from all that's been going on?
the interment was hard
my oldest brother presided
he's a former priest
my youngest brother sang and played guitar
he almost didn't make it through
but as he sang
the sun broke through the overcast
they put his ashes in a small white sarcophagus
afterwards, mom wanted to bid her farewell
by resting her hand on the "coffin"
my oldest brother led her there
they seemed to linger so I joined them
with one arm around mom
and one hand on the coffin
it had been a full month since he died
I thought I was all cried out
afterwards, we had a backyard potluck at my sister's
just family
four generations in attendance
and two gracious cousins
we were quite a crowd
it was good talking with my nieces and nephew
they're growing up
I don't see them nearly enough
like when they were kids
now there's only the future
yesterday was my birthday
at my age I used to dread it
and try to ignore it
but my younger brother's death fomented an urgency
to live and enjoy life
so happy birthday to me
at times he was my best friend and my worst enemy
my partner in night time bike riding
my parent's squealing pig prince
that got away with everything
good bye Terence
for the good times and bad times
I thank you
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 11:22 AM UTC
Why I Lay Awake at Night
Some people lay in their beds unable to sleep,
unable to dream, or not wanting to.
They each have their own reasons not to enter the nights embrace,
Whether it is the future or the past.
I find myself with a foot in both camps, fearing the past and future,
As my mind decides which nightmare is to come on a nightly basis.
Should I remember the looks on my family’s faces, the rage inside,
When I looked into my cousin’s coffin, the victim of a cold-blooded ******
The face of his murderer and the image of the acceptance letter to West Point,
The kind Lieutenant Colonel or the Deacon who presided over Requiem.
These all haunt me at night,
The images of a time past and great loss.
Should I be tortured with other images instead,
Those of my uncle or brother or a different cousin, all in the Air Force.
I cannot help but think of what may happen,
Of the horrors of war and loss.
I live in fear of the letter bearing the seal of the Air Force,
of the phone call from my mother or the two officers at the door.
Finally, there is my grandfather, who served in the U-boats,
One who never showed fear, at least to me, reduced to a frail old man in his last months.
A once proud, strong man, a father of 3 daughters,
A fighter, a survivor of untold horrors from the forties.
I build him the box in which he now resides,
And I see him before me when sleep does not come.
There are few things that can haunt someone like death,
Or death yet to come.
There is no reprieve from this constant torture,
The fear, the agony, the sadness, except death itself.
These gruesome specters, of Christmas Past and Christmas Future,
They, are Why I Lay Awake at Night.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
The shards of light came to rest on the skyline while the beast screamed, restlessly, vying for the last scrap of validity.
Entwined limbs presided over eternal nights, a disregard for the din.
This was happiness.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
I marry you in the playground.
This limitless concrete jungle, a place where wars break, houses are made and tea is served now hosts a grander event.
Spring blossoming hedgerows arch over head framing our glee, we stand together.
Resplendent in sweatshirt, Teflon and scuffed Clarks, your gingham has never looked so glorious, and I feel under-dressed and overwhelmed next to your face. The one that every mother could love.
Presided over by a select few and away from prying eyes, boisterous scuffles over footballs and teachers who just wouldn’t, couldn’t get our love.
Our diamonds and sapphires might be gelatine and e-numbers, but this commitment is delicious. As sweet and sticky as the hold you have over me.
I take your hand in mine and run for the boundaries.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
The dark crescents
under your eyes
become
indicators of
stress and wear.
Wrinkles line
your forehead
where smooth skin
once presided.
Cracks
in your heart
become visible
to those around you --
it's the absence
of light
in your eyes,
it's the lack
of enthusiasm
in your laugh.
At the end of
the day,
you find yourself
staring into the mirror...
Wondering when life
passed you by.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
Magisterial,
you presided over night,
crouching in a nimbus
of yellow light outside our door.
Indifferent to our approach,
sagacious Buddha,
scourge of crickets.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
the song remains the same
short
frantic
fast
thirty seconds of
aggression and
distortion and
******** punk
radio pop follows a formula
where experiment is anathema
and the flavor is bland vanilla
even lines of simple rhymes
gently fragrant cadences
for inane entertainment
unlike crooning ballads that
meander through soundscapes
pondering existential enigmas
in time with rhythm and blues
the banjo strings accompanying a
shadow on horseback riding on towards
a sunset setting the world asunder
we are all concertos
symphonies of solemn symmetry
a myriad of harmonies acquiescing
to the meaningless tunes of the universe
whipped hither and yon by the whims of
chance and happenstance in this
tumultuous hurricane of existence
some songs have not yet reached their conclusion
one began the moment the galaxies were painted
in broad-strokes across a tapestry of vacant space
still more have lost a beat they can't repeat and remain
forever frozen in anthologies kept in some ancient
library in an extra-dimensional plane
presided over by Father Time
a blind watchmaker created by the words that
sprung forth from cracked and withered pages
containing endless evanescent anthems
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
These are our sisters, mothers, wives,
And all of Irelands daughters lives
Being put at risk so needlessly,
Devalued oh so callously!
The truth is, there’s no denying,
Women have died with more dying
Who could have been saved possibly
If there had been more honesty?
When the problem first came to light
That some test results were not right
The first thing that should have been done
Was to inform everyone.
Alas, all those in power chose
The facts, the truth not to disclose
To women who in tests had faith
‘Til for many it was too late
How can it have become the norm
To coldly choose not to inform
Women when smears are positive,
To give them the best chance to live?
The facts cannot be argued yet,
Though facing needless early death,
They force them down the legal route
Rather than own up to the truth.
How can there be any defence
When the truth is the difference
For many between life and death?
What justice can they hope to get?
Why add to their pain, suffering,
Why not now just do the right thing
By these women failed so badly?
Though for some ‘tis too late sadly.
The choice to cover up and lie
Knowing many women could die
While in no way done in our name
Is to Irelands eternal shame.
The politicians promise change,
The Health System to rearrange
Forgetting they have been remiss
As they presided over this.
What use to grieving families
Platitudes and apologies?
No change can justify the cost
Of mothers, sisters, daughters lost.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
to-day our region
was bathed in autumn sunshine
perfect blue skies presided
as a view so divine
the countryside wore
a most fetching gleam
lustre did reflect on
the river's narrow stream
our bush landscape
exhibiting her very best
the gold and azure tones
so beautiful of request
the New England's district
gorgeous of home-yard
she surely sparkled
like a picture postcard
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 2:59 AM UTC
the old pine table,
was scrubbed daily
with a mixture of bleach and salt,
and then sluiced
with clean ice cold well water.
it had a felted softness to it,
a wonderful tactile memory
i am still unable to explain.
sat out upon the balcony,
overlooking the beaches
and whale island.
caught both the days sun
and a short substantial breeze.
it was an oval behemoth of a thing, would easily sit twelve adults,
at a christmas feast.
but now just one or two,
excepting when we arrived,
on vacation, then a half dozen neat.
and on most mornings,
big broadsheet papers.
spread out, anchored down,
by oranges and bannanas,
sea shells and driftwood,
teapots and coffee cups,
whatever was to hand,
scattered haphazardly about.
the rule was if you took a bit of fruit, or whatever,
you had to supply a new anchor.
so as the morning wore on,
fruit became books and toy trucks, teddy bears and cricket *****
all presided over by granda,
as he worked his way
around the news,
spread before him,
like the hands of a clock.
changing seats, irregularly,
with a sigh and a plop.
muttering to himself,
or calling out to gran,
news of suggested import,
or the "specials"of the day.
that old pine table held,
the world spread out,
for intelligent disection.
i still can feel, it's surface,
like rolling, polished pearls.
.....no still not explaining it,
at all well.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
close as
two molecules
inhabiting the
same cell
distant as the
chasm of
space-time
stretched out
from the Big
Bang to the
Modern Day and
beyond
it is meaningless circumstance
that's stranded us
in tandem
aloft on this rock
adrift in aimless
emptiness
no god presided
over your eternal fate
no endless author
provided the tragedies of
this less than perfect
existence but
all things considered
coincidence consistently lacks
the necessary evidence and
i'm practically convinced
at least
for the moment
that some semblance of
divinity lingers in both
you and i and in
this infinitesimally gargantuan
space between
us
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 11:07 PM UTC
a cerulean sky
presided o'er the landscape
in regal blue rule
its exhibited decree
beheld a majestic air
Jun 22, 2020
Jun 22, 2020 at 6:35 AM UTC
Oh, how the world
says us two should never be together
that the stars that presided over our birth
has forever condemned our hearts
to remain forever apart.
Oh, that fate is ever so cruel
and the cup of life be so bitter.
Oh, but for God who is love can never condemn love.
Oh, let this love be our guiding star.
Oh, the way can be bitter and the way can be long
for many a path to divine love
is full of sharp stones that slash and cut the feet
with thorn to impale the flesh
and many are the ones both arrogant and selfish
that stand within the way.
Oh, all the answers to all this life's riddles
I find in loving you.
And oh, to me you are love and life.
And oh, I shall fight my giants for you.
All the giants that keep you from me.
Without you the grave envelops me
and evil demonic hands
pull me down into a dark underworld.
Oh, I am jealous for your love!
Please my dear love let no one steal your love form me.
I am desperate for your love
for the want of you is as the want of air to the lungs.
for without you I would die the death of the ****** and forlorn.
Oh, how I hunger for you!
Oh, I hunger for you with a hunger that fills my soul
and sinks down to the marrow within my bones
and infiltrates the deepest fibers of my brain.
Oh, my love for you surpasses all my tongue can tell!
Within you I live and have my being
and without you I am less than nothing.
Oh, the birds fly through the sky upon feathered wing
the fish swim through the deep blue sea
every creature in its natural element resides
and I have my love and longing for you.
Oh, my heaven is not within the sky
or some blessed underworld where the blessed dead go
nor a seat at Odin's side in the banquet hall of Valhalla
nor upon the green Eysian fields.
Oh, my heaven is within your soft loving arms
and within you passionate kiss
so sweet and so filled with love.
Oh, when I inhale your warm breath
a thrill of passion envelops me
and I am filled with a longing
from the core of my deepest being
and I am overpowered and burn within.
Oh, how passion's fire burns within me!
And I am consumed by your wild beating heart
as it beats above me.
And I am carried away upon a sea of your kisses.
Oh, let me live in your arms for an endless eternity!
Oh, there are no bright and shining cities
nor heavenly harps, nor angels sweet songs
for which I wish and long for
but your soft and lovely body
and an eternity of your kisses
and a heart that endlessly beats for me.
Oh, that heart more lovely and pure
than that of the whitest and purest turtle dove.
Oh, I am lost in your charms
and so shall ever be through this endless eternity.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
the world was good
light shown through the dark void
waters parted to reveal dry land
Flora and Faunus presided
over primordial paradise
the green earth breathed crisp
cerulean skies
stars twinkled laser-like
through the unpolluted vastness
and every month a dragon
swallowed the moon
lions and lambs played peacefully
roses bloomed in deserts
rivers and oceans teemed
with every kind of cat and dog fish
buffalo roamed by the millions
and chickens came before eggs
nightingales sang songs
with humpbacks
butterflies flapped their wings
without consequence
the earth was new
the garden was fresh
then God created man
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 3:16 AM UTC
the old pine table,
was scrubbed daily with
a mixture of bleach and
salt,
and then sluiced with clean
ice cold well water.
it had a felted softness
to it,
a wonderful tactile
memory i am still unable
to explain.
sat out on the balcony,
overlooking the beaches
and whale island.
it was an oval behemoth of
a thing,
would easily sit
twelve adults
at a christmas feast.
but now just one or two.
excepting
when we arrive to vacation,
then a half dozen neat.
and on most mornings,
big broadsheet papers.
spread out, anchored down
by oranges and bannanas,
sea shells and driftwood,
teapots and coffee cups,
whatever was to hand,
scattered haphazardly about.
the rule was
if you took a bit
of fruit, or whatever,
you had to supply a new anchor.
so as the morning wore on,
fruit became books and toy trucks, teddy bears and cricket *****
all presided over by granda,
as he worked his way
around the news,
spread before him,
like the hands of a clock.
changing seats,
iregularly,
with a sigh and a plop.
muttering to himself,
or calling out to gran,
news of suggested import
or the specials of the day.
that old pine table held,
the world spread out,
for intelligent dissection.
i still can feel,
it's surface,
like rolling,
polished pearls.
.....no
...still not explaining it
at all well.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 6:32 AM UTC