On A Pedestrian Concourse Flow

[honeydumplin]

Long lavender ribbons, curled little and rolled
A young girl twirling locks of it white gold.
In furl clever they imply, near bare to be bold
Wrongs ever, however, entailed to be told.
The hand her hand held, from a mime up above
Swung casually gentle, some mum time of love,
And sublime so sashay, its embrace cup wove
The tangled fine faceless, voice fashion thereof.
She then heard her hearsay celebrity jail
She then heard "My dear."
Another ketamine tale.
When up, out a window, at the moon the girl blew
A kiss with a wish of minutes now overdue.
“Save me," she sighed, "from this sale of cells."
"Oh, save me," she cried, "from this gosh awful hell!"

[honeydumplin]

Drunk In A Rainbow

It's known not where exact the rose
Glass ceded conscious thought;
Nor how pink clouds, through wind opposed,
Their last conceited naught.

Even so, my soul possessed
Will to end the days obsessed
By chosen pathways right to guess
Destiny from chance.

The crystal ball clear glass half-filled
By twilight's slow burn amber chill,
Bored holes the tumbler blocks ablaze;
A prism dance fore to in gaze

One by one, as all they fell
In avalanche--this cheap motel;
Diamonds through gates of hell
And time twas endless sleep.

Awake anew world Hercules
Awaits his dagger Dioclese;
Suspended animation fist,
Clenched at gold to mill the grist.

Ancient coins flung in a fountain
Heel to toe from hill to mountain;
Powder keg dismal abyss
Tired to fire iridescent bliss.

[honeydumplin]

the demons of a poison pen
fight to get out what once was in,
right out outright wrongs wherein
trash cans hide unwritten sin.

well

yesterday, took on to
a stoplight gaze front locked rear view
at a woman's look
down at a man's
transfer of from mouth to hand
the Manhattan that today I knew
still sitting on
the rocks.

its problem found no answer few.
its proportion mouths; one to two.
its latter sort no fancied feud.
its former stems
from cherry.

[honeydumplin]

Thwarted are the ambiguities of the ambivalent.
Epitomized, they constantly castigate the choreography
Of the cosmos, imbibed in inconsequential casuistry.
Circumvented selfishly in pseudo sane seduction,
Their secular sanctity is indecisively insentient;
Damming the distinguished wary
From the rhetorical realms of inducible deception.

Bewildered by the ballyhoo,
They are beseeched,
Blissfully blinded by the bonfires of brazened benevolence.

Encompassed by equivocal equivalence,
They then digress into infinite degrees of disingenuousness
Delinquently discovering a compensatory cache of
clouded clairvoyance.

Beleaguered, they are barraged with bathos.
But beckoned by the benign,
We are bereaved.

[MajestyJo]

Grief is a part of life. We need to allow ourselves to heal from it. For the most part, it is called change. It isn't just the loss of a loved one, but the loss of anything, a job, a routine, a life style, a habit (that is why we go through it in early recovery), a food we can not eat because of health issues, and the list goes on and on.

Doesn't matter what words you say, doesn't matter how big the words are, it all comes down to the same thing grief.

The 7 stages of grief:

http://www.recover-from-grief.com/7-...-of-grief.html

[honeydumplin]

One's interpretation of what a piece implies, reveals much more
about the particular person's own perception, than it will about
any author's enigmatic motive, however trivial.

I wrote “Ambivalent Benevolence” several years ago in my own response,
after being defrauded by imposters who were supposedly part of my
country's leadership, primarily in regard for the misguided invasion
of a certain dictator who was portrayed as a venom spewing hoarder
of something artfully depicted as [weapons of mass destruction].

The poem addresses both the anger behind the act of one
being decieved by those in authority, and the sympathy
felt for a lack of conscience forethought, implored
for such massive fraud to take place.

Unfortunately, this agitation is effective, not only as a propaganda
tool for an unnecessary military campaign, but also in its
manipulating persuasions of a fairy-tale narrative—an image,
usually distorted by an outright refusal to visually engage any
modicum of personal inventory, or integrity.

I am not above the inclusion of such depiction. I endured years
chasing myself into a tepid, lukewarm, form of neutrality, thereby
obtaining the mandatory moderation required, to be a successful,
middle-of-the-road, life of the party, fully-functioning alcoholic
and habitual dope hound. There ain't no such animal.

It can be likened to walking a balancing beam, tightrope, or cliff's
edge, or a dagger suspended by a single hair over one's
own head. Even faced with death, we will often ration
our own demise, sometimes to the point of no return. I know
this—not because of any word alliteriation, or that the spell-check
was used, but because denial, guilt, and physical addiction,
had progressed to suicidal tendencies. It had nothing to do with
grief. That had been an emotion, probably removed when
I took my first drink.

Nor am I above assuming the the holier-than-thou position,
so self-righteously conveyed via link to an animated, and heretical
you tube video previously posted. Both the fellowship of
Alcoholics Anonymous, and the character of Bill Wilson,
were ultimately trashed, and deemed to be “dangerous”
by a gentleman with a keyboard, and an axe to grind;
and the poem, thus supplemented that response.

Although some may feel that not every post be met
with response, such blasphemy, as I see it, should
neither be ignored, nor should ever be taken lightly.
To each his own, and everyone should have a right to voice
an opinion, especially those of a minority. The fifth concept
tells us that. I cannot however sit idly in front of my
monitor like a doormat, refusing to defend what most of believe
to be the model for every 12 step recovery program to come
down the pike.

Not drunk, not sober, not ever.

Oh yeah, and by the way, the word “bereaved” in this context
means being separated, or deprived from the aforementioned
state. Had nothing to do with loss. Just wanted to clarify that.

[MajestyJo]

Thank you for sharing. Yet according to doctors, not just program people, we do go through grief at loss and separation.

I was't trying to take away from your words, I was just sharing how they reminded me of how I felt in recovery, having to detach from so many things in my life if I wanted to stay clean and sober. No offence meant, and as far as political is concerned, I try not to go there.