"unencumbered" poems
1 THE KIDS
it’s a simple toy
that’s all they want
these gypsy kids
Plastic discards
cups and basins
consumers-people throw away
change into toys and inventions
in the hands of the gypsy kids
Simple inventions
unique in the change
a life of the imagination
free, unencumbered
just a place on the earth
the space they play in today
That’s all the kids want this moment
not confined walls of classrooms
2 THE PARENTS
Just like the kids
Just these dads and moms
who still revel in the infancy of the earth
And their women
who cook a meal
with what the wild might offer
who are content with what’s in the basket
And who can see into the sky
and see what‘s the weather coming
this season
And so when it is time to move, and where
3 GYPSY BEAUTY
Gypsy beauty
dance your body for me
swirl it like water
spin it like a top
fly it like a kite
O gypsy beauty
with your knowing smile
and your distant eyes
O you beauty
who wears the colors of the earth
twirl the elements for me
like the winds show what’s
behind the clouds
4 GYPSY SINGER
O gypsy singer
your voice in the air
like the voices that filled
the first days of the earth
that still echo down
the crags and valleys of the mind
O gypsy singer, sing the earth to peace
Sing hard hearts to gentleness
Raise that voice of yours
that voice pure
always so unencumbered
and bring back vision
to these tired spirits
that possess and ravage the world
sing these city-organized minds to calm,
sing all living beings into clarity
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 5:58 AM UTC
First,
Thank you for this poetry, precious intellect.
For employing each muse, under no objection--
Working hard so that the words in my head can sing their celebrations
As if without effort,
And take their leave in abstract
Unity.
Second,
Thank you for my pain, you lying ************
Every time I fall under the spell of night silence,
Unencumbered by those solemn realities,
Somehow, still, I long to be bound in the ribbons of mental garrulousness.
Because ****
It'd sure be hard to write without any words--
Without the consequences of this troubled mind.
So, it looks like you’ve found a convincing way to pitch the worth of suffering.
And Darlin’, I suppose that
I'll be the buyer of your generic brand of heartache--
Never cared for that top-shelf quick n’ done despair anyway.
I must just have a pallet for lingering bitterness.
Third,
Thank you for this herb, mother nature.
For the improvisational song that it sings in my veins,
Tuning out prosaicism’s drone.
For the rocking motion of my psyche
That starts when the rapid and the slow converge,
And the configuration of the fourth dimension warbles me to sleep
In a chorus of veins—
Conveying each of life’s cadences,
All in vain
Of what I myself
Ordain.
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
all of
America’s
gubmint hatin
yahoos, pining
to get their
country back,
should grab
yer rifles, stock
up on ammo
and giddy up
down to Texas
to join the
secessionists
headin out
of the Union
Rick Perry
promises to
keep his promise
to close all the
gubmint departments
he can't remember
the names of
Ron Paul will
finally be liberated
from the tyranny
of his federal
paycheck and
can return to
his district to
practice medicine
unencumbered
by the acceptance
of medicare
payments
Ted Cruz will
move to coronate
his Cuban born
daddy as Viceroy
for life of the
western hemispheres
newest banana
republic
the last act of
of the Compartment
of Education will be
to turn every
public school
into a Holy Ghostin
Jehovah meetin
house
Judicial magistrates
will criminalize
poor people
or just make
them slaves
and all prisons
will be turned
into profit driven
plantations,
overseen by
the local
Sheriffs who
will be paid
time and a
half and 15%
of all profits
unfortunately
the Cowboy’s
will lose it’s
moniker as
America’s Team
if rattlesnake
booted
Jerry Jones
can’t make a
deal to turn
his stadium
into a sovereign
independent
territory as a
protectorate
of the USA
To assure
national purity
Texans will
build a Jericho
style wall to
define the boundaries
of their heavenly
kingdom and outlaw
all trumpet playing
within earshot
of their perturbed
borders
The Eyes of
Texas as the
state anthem
will need to
be reworded
The final stanza
will be changed
to "Until Gabriel
blows his nose"
keepin the ungodly
out and the chosen
people safely
insulated within
the shining
Lone Star State
will rise again
as a solitary
confederacy
of dunces
Music Selection:
The Eyes of Texas
Oakland
11/18/13
jbm
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
*blistering day shuns a walk
all flock to recycled air-con of malls
few venture out* . . .
1.
walk along a mountain path
dislike snakes
wear heavy ankle-boots
rough route
craggy stones
grow tired
2.
head on stone
fall into drowsy slumber
baking brains gathering aches
3.
huge mountain appears
espy a cut opening along the side
a welcoming slit
enter slowly
step by step
seems to brook entry to no more
wonder what calls inside
4.
distant drumming
not afraid
joy fills supreme
reducing epicenter
gentle hands touch and pull in
negating every fear
melting away bleak thoughts
sink deeper into the earth
down . . . down . . . down
into cavities unknown
follow secret canal away from here
5.
sweetest eyes greet and kiss
fall into soft furrows
carried along canal of warmth
close the eyes
fall in heart with glowing ambience
subtle humming felt beneath the soles
sweetest honey-lake
deeper . . . deeper . . . deeper
sublime cocoon - always dreamt of
what supreme bliss
falls in lap of bearer
6.
all cares washed away
known memories seem to float off
as a dinghy to a waterfall
lost over that lip
free fall
free fall
conscience takes a bobbing nap
on waves which lull the senses
into drifting buoy
as conscious dips
utter serenity
spirit moves freely
totally unencumbered
/ /
[awareness - jolted - sudden - open
as corporeal fetters take hold once more
teeter into rude awakening
rub eyes to verify
faculties catapulting in greedy succession
/ /
find a hessian bag on rock
half-afraid to check inside
seemingly empty
lift the edge and peer inside
/ /
the most silent rainbow of inner dreams
long-forgotten wishes flow
into being
as rains come down]
/ /
*no more fear.. again
no more tension
no answering to
no deprivation
no derision
two pure doves hover
quite high
a pale-blue
buoy ~
the only signs of hope
blistering judgment dissolves
beautiful buoy floating
a way.... to marve cut of pure crystal
away...
on an endless ocean of calm*
S T, 20 August 2013
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
More folk need to learn
About Cause and Effect
Respecting others
Is fundamentally what earns respect
My dad was raised Christian
Episcopalian
But left
No disrespect
He just wasn't convinced
So when I was a child
Our attendance at church was
sporadic
Sometimes a source of contention
And, usually, more pain than joy
The summer of 1969
Men walked on the Moon
And my parents
Split
My dad moved across town
I saw him one day each weekend
The most time we had ever spent together.
When I was twelve the earth moved
Sixty-four people died
And my father embraced Buddhism
And Buddhism embraced him
In a way nothing else ever had
and he learned moderation
Regaining his freedom
What got him was the Law of Causation
Cause and Effect
What goes around comes around
The Golden Rule
Unencumbered
With the baggage from his past
The philosophy of common sense
His pianist's artist's teacher's mind
Could comprehend
Grasp and hold for good
My twelve-year-old mouth
Would not be denied
And so I one day announced
That chanting
Was simply another form of prayer
A fact he acknowledged
reluctantly
but ultimately
with humor and grace
And was it my father's turn to Buddhism
That sparked my own
Journey into Spirit?
In 1972
With Godspell on the radio
I saw Jesus Christ Superstar
At the Universal Amphitheatre
Twice
And when my sister joked
"Let there be light"
And all the lights came on
Then she genuflected
Before taking her seat
It was only partly in jest
For there was reverence in the air
And a sense of the Eternal
The foundation of the story
Of every story
Cause and Effect
Later that year I was baptized
Before I realized
That no church held the key
For the key was within me
As it resides within us all
More folk need to learn
About Cause and Effect
We are here on earth to Love.
And respecting others
Is fundamentally what earns respect.
6/7 July 2005 Approx. 2 AM
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
You don't love
me;
you love the
tip of the iceberg
that is your idea of me;
the sugar-coated mute
leading herds
of unfinished sentences
down the copious hills
of his insecurity;
the nice little writer
whose constant attempts
at legendary one-liners
are as hit-or-miss
as a sitcom still airing
far past its prime.
I possess three biomes,
or, rather, three networks
of personalities and identities.
I am much more than
the Jack Macfarland archetype
lip-syncing to Cher in the one
gay bar in town, tyrannically
governing your wardrobe,
possessing a razor-sharp wit
cast toward the backs of his community
in the form of an outdated punchline-
my work on that show
lost its Willful relevance
and Graceful naivete
years ago.
I am of the generation
fed media saturation
three four-hour meals a day,
who ingested cardboard cadavers
as if they were mother's milk
and internally mutated their
thoughts and desires
to fit the compact time frame
of 30 minutes
to settle the series' worth
of traumas and neuroses
while making it home for dinner
to stay tuned for what's
next in the lineup.
Speaking as a casualty of this
inevitable chain of events,
I regretfully declare that even
those who have seen
every episode of myself
for the past six seasons
are still light years away
from the room full of faces
unencumbered by euphemism.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 10:59 AM UTC
New mildew mania, oh man-of-war
Live by the letter, and **** for the car
The dreamers, constrained by the fog they can’t see
I uttered this song in Breakaway Alley
A wandering blonde in the restless air
Their kids, half-afraid that they’re halfway to nowhere
Think what you may, they are not in a trance
Wield what they say and you’ll find that you dance
Upon every row, lies a flag waving by
Apartment gravestones kissing up to the sky
Now, must we try so hard for fake jubilee?
The happy ones live in Breakaway Alley
In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley is on the run
All the country crows, they’ve committed a crime
Each of their wings, flapping mad out of time
To fly with such freedom yet stay so cloudbound
Cacophonous sounds fighting for our own ground
The buds only look up for leviathans
To take them to the realm they misunderstand
To pity the fool that does not try to flee
We sit on our stools in Breakaway Alley
In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley has emptied the guns
The youth do not stir at the visage of hell
There is no romance in the streets’ calling bells
And while we may treat such a threat to be shown
The dagger of a mind is dull while unknown
The ravaged pretender spoke of the Romans
His gauntlets of gold, earned from fate’s happenstance
To escape his blood, he would face down the sea
The velvet hands shook in Breakaway Alley
In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley is due to be shunned
The eye of childhood feared the forgotten paint
They lay, unencumbered, on secular saints
The falsified folly in full leopard print
The troops in their trollies with pockets of lint
The radio is silent in time’s aging vice
We hear and don’t listen, bats spliced with mice
But maybe, you will see this sweet harmony
Remember the words of Breakaway Alley
In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley has finally gone
When the baby screams for the first time, aged five
Will it lament the loss of its life?
When the kids rear for a solution wherever you go
How much will it take to say “God, I’ll never know”?
Remember the words of Breakaway Alley
It’s not all you see, it’s not simply me
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 8:31 PM UTC
I have been one acquainted with the night
Moving quickly with unencumbered ease
Through a cooling darkened breeze
Drawing drapes, eluding light
I am one acquainted with the night
I have been one acquainted with the chill
That an October morning brings
With whispered imaginings
Of wine, a blanket and a hill
I am one acquainted with the chill
Barren days and shadowed hours
Make the masses evanesce
Yet no less shared nor picturesque
For they shall remain forever ours
We shall be ones acquainted with the night
Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 9:10 AM UTC
The eulogies resound in stentorian tones for the great,
those of prominence, those who have ascended to the pinnacle,
those who have known power, and who have changed worlds,
whose names fall from the lips of every man, who are offered
unencumbered embrace, a deferential half pace backward.
But what of the good man, without position, sans societal perch,
whose wealth is paltry, accomplishment meager,
yet whose effort is no less herculean, no less courageous,
whose heart is no less pure, the good man doomed to failure
through paucity of talent, or missed opportunity,
or plain bad fortune, yet who resolves to continue, plod foot after foot to anonymous end, and whose name will not be voiced in so much as a whisper for all eternity.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC
Never been so attracted
to one being.
Wildly attracted
to traits of many,
always fleeting.
So many rolled
into one man
leaves me speechless,
intrigued and fiending.
He mirrors my lunacy,
and my fiery independence,
our duality.
Water bearers
pour streams
adjoined from
the heavens, unencumbered.
After years of finding
the streams gravitating
into one,
we ditch a gourd.
Our fingers intertwined
under the neck
and the base of
the remaining one.
Our eyes mingle mysteriously
each morning,
and when they find stars
they get to pouring.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 1:29 AM UTC
.
•the ••••••••
old man wi- ••••••••
thered•as suns ••••••••
would set....over ••••••••
many days•follies ••••••••
he committed, then ••••••••
unencumbered•fina- ••••••••
lly caught up...so now ••••••••
he pays • like an unca- ••••••••
ged bird, he had left his ••••••••
perch• not looking
back, leaving behi-
nd hatchlings and
nest• he discarded
his roots when he
left them in the lu-
rch• flew to pursue
what he had thoug-
ht was best•now he's
ailing thin.....he seeks
to reconcile • reached
to his sons...and left a
voice message•asking
atonement for his cri-
mes so despicable and
vile • for now he lays con- ••••••••
sumed.........by illness and ••••••••
rage•hours tick by as his ••••••••
days blur into weeks...• ••••••••
his frail breaths weak- ••••••••
en as he succumbs in ••••••••
bed•finally the call ••••••••
did come bearing ••••••••
the absolution ••••••••
he seeks• ••••••••
just a minute too late,
for the old man is already
dead•
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
∞
___Name the word, for the word has a name.___
_Listen to it breathe. Let it lie lightly in the mind and liquid
on the tongue. Bear its essence forth, its personality and its intention
- conceived briefly, discarded readily, pronounced forcefully.
∞
How does it sit with you? The spread of its silhouette suspended
within a silent interval. How does it move you? An attitude framed by
the gesture of a hand. Is its pitch sharp or flat, its texture course or fine?
∞
Allow meaning and resonance, intonation and feeling to merge unencumbered;
the syntax of the imprisoned soul, emancipated by a river of sound, to mould
the shape of your aboutness, around and within, beyond and in spite of..._
___And hear consciousness dance.___
∞
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 7:42 PM UTC
Please hold me tight, he says, as he awakens me from deep slumber,
This strong willed man has finally let me in to his true feelings, his vulnerability unencumbered.
For whatever reason, he opens up and lets me into his mind's thoughts.
Panic of upcoming events and uncertainty are playing havoc in his head.
Hold me tight, I'm scared, he breathes softly in my ear.
This strong man is even more sexier to me, within his own fear.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
She noticed the basking shark was wounded,
weeping vaginal blood.
The tall man in a fedora whispered as he passed.
Whipped by exploratory waves, she blushed.
The horizon was a hazy green line dipped in red.
She had been there since morning
searching for love,
and found it
from a six-pack merman offering solace
as he rode on the silvery
back of a ray.
As he approached, the sun at his back,
she moaned and threw out her arms
like a supplicant.
Complete at last, the sand grasping at
her shoeless feet, she sank
towards the earth’s distant core
using her arms as uncertain ballast.
She awoke with a shiver
brushed away the sand
and headed back home.
The shark had turned belly-up,
scavenged by seagulls.
Another day-dream enjoyed in the
empty hours between lunch and dinner
between her third cup of tea
and fourth cigarette,
her children snoozing in
the back bedroom. Half-slumbering
in a town barked at by bothersome seagulls
where an unencumbered sun
set on a postcard shoreline.
Planning the rows of petunias to be
planted by the hedge,
making shopping lists,
writing novels, never to be published,
staring out of her windows at the sea
she waited for her husband’s return,
tedious evenings of T.V.
and coition under the brightly coloured duvet.
The waves that overwhelmed her, flooding her senses,
were her own. The man
in the fedora had made her smile.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
I, too, was once a man
in search of guiding light.
Hopeless, lost, alone
and ready to give up the fight.
When a helping hand reached out,
unencumbered by my weight
and took it upon themselves
to pull me from Hell's gate.
Self sacrifice; a virtue
that I would someday know
to be the shelter that I found
beneath the cape of my hero.
Confide in me, my darling;
I'll be your great escape.
It was written in the starlight
that I would don the cape.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
It is to the free-minded yet civil, the industrious yet unambitious, the honest yet kind, the unencumbered yet giving, the private yet civic, the humble yet wise, the quiet yet firm, the suffering yet dignified, the individual yet understanding and the lawful yet forgiving people that I raise my hand in honor and not to those who would hector us with exhortations from the offices of power or the pulpits of vanity.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Twisted tales come surging
From a mind writhing and purging
In an oft fomented urging
For expressions, pure and raw
That fight repressions, lure and claw
Their way up to the surface
To effect a sense of purpose
But it's really all just worthless. . .
That's, unless you think it's not!
But if you don't: Your brain might rot!
Your skin might bubble, blood might clot
Leaving you heaving bile and snot
Or maybe phlegm and sputum
So your mental stores, you loot 'em
Load these rhymes up and you shoot 'em
Into repressed regression's mains
Into depressed suppression's veins
Until they sing a glad refrain
Of being decoagulated
Platelets become agitated
Now the blood is circulated
And the brain that hibernated
Has awakened from its slumber
Now it ponderously lumbers
With intentions unencumbered
Gotta do it by the numbers
So, them synapses start firin'
Them cortices start wirin'
And belly full of fire sings
Of jelly beans and tire swings
Of silly schemes and flyer wings
On foul mouthed little parrot,
Owners ***** laundry, airs it
Polly want a *******
Just a snack sir?
But old Polly sez:
**** me harder, Álvarez!"*
Look aghast, her husband Ted:
*"Oh hell no ***** 'cause that's the bed
that both we AND our children sleep in!
you've got Latin Lovers creepin'?"*
She vacates the bedroom weepin'
Well . . . that took a drastic turn
To dwellings where disasters churn
So silly, will we ever learn
Or for mere want of learning, yearn?
(Tom, to himself: Go eat food. . . .)
(Tom, back to himself: Good idea!)
I think he left, but I'm still near
As tattered, scattered writing, dear!
So, read me well and read me clear,
And bring some friends to visit here!
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 1:03 PM UTC
How many good memories have I destroyed?
Each one, a treasure to another
A string of pearls
And like the portrait of two lovers
I chose to bow out
In remembrance, I have ruined many lives
A kindly soul allowing me to merge
But I was never fully integrated
Always looking to egress at the slightest transgression
I fear I have doomed many an honest spirit
To think hard of me and my character
It would have been better if they had never set eyes upon me
And continued on their journey, unencumbered
Never knowing the name of this lost nomad
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
Your path is well worn
Like the old Indian trails still visible in winter
Your life has left a wake of possibilities
Its ripples, forever spreading – wide, firm, unencumbered, vast
To think of autumn and feel the evening chill for
You are embedded in my every thought
Anger, love, discontent, beauty, helplessness, ecstasy
I am ready to find my cliff edge
To spread my arms and leap
Knowing the perfection of gravity and its consequences
I fear that our entanglement has been broken
Magnets, repelling with the same polarity
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
I am thinking about newly-hatched sea turtles,
and about how perfectly formed they are.
And about how, with independent instinct,
they head straight for the open ocean.
In our dream worlds,
where convention holds no sway,
we do the same.
Left to our own unencumbered instincts,
and when we are rested and happy,
we make choices that nourish our souls,
and the souls of those around us.
Finding a point of origin,
and finding where we belong,
are two sides of the selfsame coin.
Trundling into the sea of our own authenticity
may seem too simple, lacking in choice.
It is our bravest, most definitive act.
As vital to our real survival,
as to those tiny beings,
who innocently do as they must.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
This pearl. Ah, this beautiful, precious pearl.
Creamy, buttery; rich and velvety.
A teardrop. Wrought beneath the churning swirl
Of a deep and unfathomable sea.
A tear shed for unobserved injury
Penetrating calcareous armour;
Weeping silently; seeking serenity
And embracing quietude with ardour.
The injured life gives way to a treasure
Near unimaginable. Beguiling.
A jewel in life beyond true measure.
Natural and pure. A gift of being.
The world is our oyster. Imperfect. Whole.
The pearl - a lithe and unencumbered soul.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 6:00 PM UTC
The journey I must travel is one I must go alone,
Though the trek is wearisome and takes almost a lifetime to accoplish,
I know I am prone to go on this journey alone.
The Wind blows North, but I go South,
I fear for those of the Unencumbered,
Who sit around with all their days numbered.
My time may be short, but I will surely make it last,
I do not know what to do, I am as fragile as glass.
The sky laughs at me while the Winds comfort me.
To this journey I am prone,
On this journey, I must go alone.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:18 PM UTC
An unfenced field
of memories awoken ,
frozen pastel flowers
color fast ,
though fading
on borrowed time
A one-way footpath
disappears unencumbered
between the snowdrifts
leading across
the winter stilled
iced up creek bed ,
coursing a path
of least resistance
destiny unknown
Changing tawny petals
scatter like potpourri ,
fallen collateral
in the aftermath
a beautiful dream's
passing light
Pressed and dried
memories buried
under dog-eared
tear-stained pages
black topiaries
that grow in the dark
Redemption unbid
and unwelcome,
earthen mineral rights
surrendered unspent ,
Natural order
decomposing
reclamation ,
chilled to the marrow
A scorned lover’s
bated breathe
bared ink unspoken,
Unbidden laments
eerily betokened
in an unseen
netherworld ,
undeniable , yet
bashfully remarkable
I see the frosty
fogged breath
that repents
in choral dialect ,
speaking in known
tongue , with
the absolvable voice
of a bitter cold wind
wind is the wind .... December 20. 2016
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
i do not love you like simplicity is my end goal
under duress I might fall prey to convention, but here
my bliss is unencumbered; i look to you, and there are shadows
spaces to be overlooked and re-examined
little things too precious for a first glance
i do not love you in order to be loved
it isn’t in me, to hope for exchange
a burden falls, but it isn’t hope
i do not carry wishes on my shoulders
i do not fall under the weight of expectation
if you were to love me, i would
be constantly surprised, even if you kissed me
a thousand times
if you reached for my hand, i’d jolt
in happy astonishment
when our skin touched
even if my mind grew to know you as home
each touch
would set my heart staccato
each year would slip by
and i’d stare at my hands
wondering if i’d been the one charged to hold it
but:
if every time we spoke
the world faded, it would be no less than convention
i suspend disbelief when you laugh
sometimes your questions are darts through me
arrows of lost circumspection,
i do not love you to hold your heart in my palm
i would let more melancholy soak through me to
hold your ear for an hour without fear of faltering
i do not love you to give myself up
i love you like i could never say the words
only smile at you i know you know i know you know
i do
like a secret between the two of us
and everyone else i’ve ever told, unabashed
it’s not hard to see you and wish for potential to turn into kinetics
for you and me and this to move
it’s almost become routine
i put a foot forward and walk
i breathe in and back out
i reach for a real smile when i see you wrap arms around her waist
it’s simple
i love you because it makes things brighter
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 5:51 AM UTC