Month: February 2021

Billions of slow bursting

What would now be called

Christian Years

On one hand

all of those pond eggs

bubbled for an immeasurable eternity

Just for you and I

to diss this museum

Standing in Line. Eyes front.
No acknowledgment. Robotic recruits
Uniforms pressed. Knife-edge creases.
Summer sunshine. Corona causation.
Shoes shone. Reflective leather. Bows tied.
Tarsal protection. Cobbled, with a mirror image.

No one speaks. Wordless. Mute.
Personal thoughts? Dubious!
Typical English. Restrained. Controlled.
Vehicle now approaches. A two-tiered behemoth.
Military Green-hued. Land-locked missile.
Troopship travel. Ever advancing.

Rubber eating asphalt. Esurient bugger!
Be-capped captain of the vessel, front right aligned.
Serious, concentrated. Steers to our loading bay.
Shuffles begin. Slow, but steady as she goes.
No smiles, no colloquy. Simply shuffles.
Tuneless accordion doors slide open.

Onboarding. Pass showing protocol.
Welcoming officer, cold. Indifference abounds.
I bid him “Good morning, Sir”.
A practiced scowl retorted. Disparaged.
At last. Now, as one with the tacit team.
Herd comfort. Recognition. United.

Conquer the stairs to level two. Privileged deck.
Seating rare in this terrain. Semi extinct. Scoping panjandrums.
Hunters all. Survival of the fittest. Perchance
Target identified. Crosshairs locked on. Homing in.
Document case launched. Laser accurate. 
Target secured. Touch down. Seat meets seat.

A window glance confirms movement. Forward motion.
Speeding. Burning gas. Ice caps thawed. Globe warmed.
A juggernaut hurtling. Chasing time. Mach 1.
Soon be there. Raging anticipation. Pulsation. Momentarily.
My private happy place. Mon endroit heureux.
Secrets to be shared. Jointly enjoyed. Canopied euphoria.

Emerald canopy infiltrated. A virtual, verdure veil.
No others stir. Oblivious to nature. Unseeing. Unappreciative.
Sunlight on dappled leaves. Rays converse. Au Courant.
Morse code messaging. Covert contact. Mine alone.
I revel. This is MY time. Although time’s halted. Frozen.
Enter the single Silver Birch, stoic in a realm of Horse Chestnuts.

That Betula Pendula taught me so very much.
We communicate as I glide by. Subliminal sign on.
Actual logging in. Mental discourse
I query if he is sad, lonely.
“Alone, but not lonely!” He continues.
“You visit, Flora and Fauna drop by, the sun, the wind…So blessed”.

Certain about the canopy?
“Absolute certainty. It’s the pain”
Trees do feel pain?
We accelerate past. Strain for the last words.
Glimpse skyward. The sun still messaging.
No branches touch the top of our vehicle.

Words float over the engine’s roar,
“Yes, we all feel pain”.
“We all feel love. Like you, we avoid the Via Delorosa”
Over and out. Communications link lost.
Until tomorrow. Jusqu’à demain mon ami.
A smugly smile steals across my face.

Eyes tight shut. Blind celebration. Yes!
Virtual high five. Fist bump fantasy. Ultimate pctureless selfie.
Ephemeral ecstasy. Cerebral celebration.
Furtive observation. Other travelers oblivious.
My secret secure. Locked up tight.
As tight as a very tight thing. Key concealed.

Terminus looms. The canopy, a rearview mirror throwback.
Glorious morning. Another miracle. One of many already today.
Cradled once more by Mother Nature. With absolute proof.
Loneliness is a mental state. Alone, exclusively physical.
Disembarking. Stepping out. Eyes peer heavenward.
Pupils contract. Gratitude expands. Thankful.

Thankful I have learned all living things have feelings.
Thankful for complete acceptance. To be trusted. Intimate inclusion.
Meandering through the milling throng. Trudging. Diluted enthusiasm.
To the daunting building on the hill. A bastion of cruelty.
Supposedly of learning. Dark, foreboding. School.
A manifestly different journey ahead. Purely, a real mental state.

It was far from a normal day in Heaven
Though how could you even begin to categorize
A normal day for the Architect of Creation?

Yet one fact could not be disputed:
God needed an extra spare pair of pants.

Bring to me a new tailor, the Lord commanded,
Only to be greeted by nearly-audible overtones of silence.

Father, came the voice of one valiant angel,
We could begin stitching now, yet it would require
Half of an entire Creation merely to piece together your fabric.

So? responded God… What’s a mere half-of-a-Creation compared to all of infinity?

And we would have to link all the riparian lands of the earth
Simply to connect the seams, another angel observed, in a studious and scholarly tone.

And your point is? God inquired.

They could sense Him simultaneously overhead and sideways, as if
The primal essence of His Beingness was steadily filling each and every
Vacuum of uncharted space with opalescent luminescence.

What’s unfashionable about the current pair of your leisurewear? Archangel Uriel prodded, ever-so gently.

I’ve had this ragged, old smock since the beginning of Creation, replied the Lord.
And its pockets are currently encrusted with the grimy dust of time!

Have you considered the Whirlpool Galaxy? Archangel Michael boldly inquired.

And WHAT am I to wear whilst my ‘smock of ages’ is washed via whirlpool? demanded the Creator.

God, we will surround your visage with a cloak of light, replied the assembled seraphim.

About your head, we shall place the constellation Orion.
About your torso, we shall drape the powerful constellation Centaurus.
About your midsection, the expanded bow & arrow of Sagittarius;
Whilst about your legs and feet, almighty God, the laughter and dimples of an entire expanse of Pisces.
And remember, Lord God Almighty, we can always apply fabric softener in the river Eridanus.

Beyond that, Father God, a cherub squeaked, to his immediate regret,
You can always consider previewing the still-fashionable online store, BIG & TALL.

Humph, said Father God. Then quite a bit louder, HUMPH!

And WHERE is BIG & TALL in my Bible? The Creator pointedly asked, arching His inquisitive eyebrows
Higher than Mount Everest.

Somewhere east of Jerusalem, a pipsqueak of yet another cherub answered nervously,
Only to be shushed up. Yet befitting his youth as well as his boldness, this particular cherub
Could not so easily be silenced. He stood upon the brawny shoulders of more than 100,000 angels,
Who quite easily read the little one’s thoughts, yet spoke altogether in an eerie and perfected unison:

Lord, none of us has ever been able to see you, announced the entire angelic choir. You are so big
That a single follicle of your hair elongates further than the Amazon River. The zipper for your blue jeans
Is longer than the transcontinental railroad. And —

THEY’RE WHITE JEANS! thundered Father God.

Seven thousand light years away, in the Eagle Nebula, a new and abrupt flowering of dazzling stars was born.

Into the massive spinning of the cosmos, comets began streaking like searchlights across the eastern sky.
Venus erupted with a fresh lava flow. And little Lord Pluto, for several minutes, was bumped off its far-distant orbit.

God stretched, and for as wide as the eye could see,
Yods and sparks of light sparked and streaked
Within the royal purple velvet of continuous and unending space.

You know, sighed the Father, perhaps I could get by, merely for three or four hundred years,
With some drawstring yoga pants. Cotton. Yes, pre-washed cotton! I shall ask
Athena, Aphrodite, and Diana to locate a pair of extra-comfy drawstring yoga pants for me,
During their continuously restless celestial travels.

Lord, added Ezekiel, we can also gather the flowers of the earth, to create a fragrant Hawaiian lei for You,
To drape across your never-ending shoulders…

There was what appeared to be an eternity of silence after Ezekiel’s suggestion.
Until God spoke with a most-gigantic belly-laugh. Vigorously. A boisterous laugh of unparalleled enormity!

Far below, earthquakes rocked and shook Fairbanks, Alaska; and the upper half of Siberia and Mongolia;
As well as barely-contained, completely secretive caverns; and the as-yet unmapped and rarely-traveled,
Virtually remote parts deeply nestled within the Caucasian Mountains.

I’m not a tourist, announced the Lord, and never shall I be merely a visitor
To the unspeakable chasms of My splendorous Creation!

All at once, He smiled, and everyone assembled basked in His multidimensional radiance.

There was nothing left to say. As it was, and had always been, since the beginning of recorded time,
The love of God cleansed and washed away every concern and momentary worry.

© 2021 ShaunDarius Gottlieb

The German Restaurant

They vacuum the German Restaurant;

put chairs up around us,

calculate the cost of a triple order of sour cream,

then throw us out on Queen Street

where there is no air conditioning –

the wine in take-out cups.

“Stop laughing!”

(It’s July)

“You’ll attract the Police.”

Back at your apartment, Dylan’s on the headsets.

Your video is walking over ashtrays and smiling.

“Stop it. I don’t feel like reading your lips.”

You’ve had enough wine to lie down on the kitchen floor;

the only cool place in Toronto, maybe the world.

Wish again that you hair didn’t curl like that.

Continue your theory on the effects of my boyfriend’s religion.

Say again, say how, “YOU AND I ARE THE ONLY

DECENT PEOPLE LEFT IN THIS WORLD.”

And suddenly, the ferocious feline, snares me;
with her bovine like-
venomous paws,
lips locked in blood red,
and glow that can only blind.

Enthralled,
Enthused,
Amused,
Amazed,
Engulfed,
Evolved.

Awaiting, a moment, longing for them to bind.
A promised decade after lease.

And suddenly, Alas;
yet again, the silk of her hair,
embraced him like a guillotine.

The shivering limbs,
the dimming vision,
the breathless hope,
the paralysed sense…

All of him…
Much of her…
Stays deafeningly echoing,
in the abysmal graves of their souls.

——

Poet Bio

Amol Redij is Indian poet based out of Pune. He has previously published two books of poetry. Amol has his poems published in international magazines. Amol also works for short films as a dialog writer, assistant director, and executive producer. He had been working in the IT industry for the past 16 years and now pursues writing full time.

The snow has just begun to fall
thick enough to leave footprints –
My footprints –
first to mark this snow.
From A where I began
to B where I finished
Mine were the first footprints
to be added by others.

The first love sonnet was written when
a lover at A saw the one
she loved at B
and wrote a poem or a haiku or
some really forgettable prose
and a family was born.

Someone else at A
saw someone hungry at B
and brought a sandwich
made a place at the table
opened a restaurant
or a food bank
and a community was born.

Others at A saw a people
oppressed at B.
So they crossed over to stand with them
and brought their poetry, their food,
their voices and
their solidarity.

New sonnets were written.
New lovers embraced
New resources were unearthed
New creativity inspired
And a movement was born.

When A is where we are
and B is where we could be
where the homeless are housed
and the hungry are fed –
The bridge getting us there,

inspiring sonnets
and families
and meals
and wide tables
and communities
and solidarity
and movements,
and encountering
resistance,

Is Love.

Two Persian Greyhounds gently scrape their paws backward along the sidewalk. One, then the other. It’s a familiar maneuver, athletic, intimidating even. These animals aren’t your average Sunday schmoozers. Oh no, these guys are winners, and boy, do they look fast just standing there. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, the slow scrape-back, while watching the Olympics on TV a few summers ago. Sprinters preparing to race, feeling the earth below, reminding themselves what their feet can do. The master of these creatures waits nearby, wearing an arrogant bright orange vest. She stands proudly, her pale knuckles tightly clenched around a pair of leashes. “I’m in charge here,” she seems to be saying. But all it would take is some yapping chihuahua in the distance or a measly dollop of spilled pizza sauce hitting the street corner, and these hounds would be gone, a trail of orange and red following closely behind. They’ve been preparing to hunt all afternoon, you see, and they’d kill to go someplace quick.

I remember
my mother’s skin
as she aged,
so delicate and soft,
like stroking clouds
or the down
on a new-born baby’s head;
a touch of Heaven as she
neared her entrance into that
august Palace above,
a reminder that soon she
would be far beyond my touch.
Far beyond my presence.

Now as I stroke the underside
of my own arm
and feel that same softness,
that same delicacy,
I wonder how
I got to this place
of endings,
my own body slipping
down the road of no return,
never enquiring if my spirit
wants to accompany it.

Greedy in its desire
to follow its own path,
my body bows to years that
my conscious mind discounts—
uncaring of the years yet to come,
the things still to accomplish—
pulling me where
I do not want to go,
where I cannot imagine
myself venturing,
not for decades to come.

If ever.

How strange
and somehow fitting
that both the beginning
and the ending
encapsulate themselves
in delicate softness,
when death—
unlike the space in between—
is so harsh,
so heart-stoppingly feared,
so final.

Do we simply come from
the softness of nothing
to slip into
the wonder and bustle of life,
then vanish back into the
nothing of softness?
I do not want
to be beyond the touch,
beyond the present.

And still my skin softens.
It softens.

They walk down the beach with their eye to their toe,

They craze down the beach, they really move slow.

Looking for remains from the creature of fright,

They’re out on the beach, from morning to night.

Huntin’ and ‘a searchin’ just to find what they seek:

They’re the shark teeth seekers, “Shark Teethers!”

From Charleston to Edisto, to Hunting Isle,

When they find that tooth, they really put on a smile!

Although they may have jars of teeth back on a shelf,

They just keep on ‘a searchin’–they want more for themself,

Huntin’ and ‘a searchin’ just to find what they seek:

They’re the shark teeth seekers, “Shark Teethers!”

A hundred million years ago all over the sound

Those teeth were all in sharks, just a swimmin’ around

And if a tooth would fall out when a shark took a bite,

Another one would grow back in almost overnight….

So, if you’re at the beach and you go for a walk,

And you don’t feel like swimming, you don’t want to talk,

Just walk real slow, keep your eye to the ground,

And before you’ve gone too far that first tooth you’ll have found

Don’t worry that they’ll all be gone, they’re still bein’ made,

You’re a shark teeth seeker, Shark Teether

A shark teeth seeker, Shark Teether

A shark teeth seeker, Shark Teether……

Copyright 2019 (or 1980+/- just can’t say!) by Stephen V. Geddes, Aiken SC