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Trilogy: Learn Leadership From This Bird; Nordic Blast of Wisencrap & Sequel

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  • Trilogy: Learn Leadership From This Bird; Nordic Blast of Wisencrap & Sequel

    My name is Kenneth Lockhart. This is a trilogy of poems I began writing in the fall of 2014. The second I tried putting in the Edgar Allen Poe style, the third less so. Though the second two might sound a little dark, I was not, nor am I now in the throes of depression. I am 70 years old married man to my wife of 48 years. We live in HUD subsidized housing. If any of you reading this ever have lived, or do currently live in a similar environment such as ours, even in the nicest facilities such as the one where we live, 100 apartments and 106 resident-tenants, there is one phrase that aptly describes some of the people in a facility such as this (a large sprawling one story, 6 winged facility), and that word is "desperate controlling bullies". My goal in entering this contest, after first hoping to be one of the 10 poets selected, is to help those so disposed to have a realization of how adult bullying of adults can lead to anger, depression, and frustration for the victims. I have chosen this avenue as sort of a release and choose rather to become involved in researching out solutions to this social blight that hurts those so much who do not know how to handle it. We have lived here for over three years, and the situation here has gotten me to the point of writing a lot of poetry of late. Some of it has been negative, some positive, but most all are factual and to the point, as much at least as you can make this kind of poetry. Back in the fall of 2014, my wife and I were driving home and just a few blocks before reaching home, we saw alone high up in a fall wind blown tree, and it got me to thinking about some things where we live. This is the result of those thoughts, and the following 2nd and 3rd of the trilogy, which I will leave with you.

    (Part 1)
    Learn (And Understand) Leadership from this bird.

    I saw a bird just the other day very high up and (out of his tree)
    Just around the corner from where we live, you know, you and me.
    He was at the top of this exclusive tree, right where he wanted to be.
    He was a take-charge sort of creature, this bird, all alone in that tree.

    The branches up there in that tree were bare; it was fall.
    It was apparent to no one at all
    That this bird alone up there so high in the air
    Would not give up the branch he was determined to chair.

    So chair away he did, away up there all alone;
    Though there were no other birds around him to listen.
    And now, with the snow falling as he sat there forlorn,
    The branches finally with ice did now glisten

    He was both headcheese and boss: this bird all alone,
    In those branches away up there in the air.
    His chairmanship he would not give up at all;
    And about others he certainly did not care.

    Because for him you see it was all about
    Just one thing; this is for certain:
    He wanted to control everything he could,
    As he just kept on with his incessant chirpin'.

    That curtain was closed for the rest of the birds:
    Of course he could care less don't you see?
    As long as he was boss, even though nothing happened.
    He was happy as a Lark up there in that tree.

    And so the moral of this poem is pretty plain don't you see,
    Don't be a bird that must control all that goes on in your tree,
    Because the only bird you will influence at all,
    Will be none other than you, and you'll soon be history.

    © 2014 Kenneth B Jr., Lockhart (all rights reserved)

    Part 2

    This poem was inspired by those who feign friendship; but when they are not getting what they want, which has nothing to do with being kind and helpful, they turn on others whom they presume to be their enemies in a heartbeat no matter how gradual!

    Awake "The Nordic Blast of WisenCrap"
    (my wife came up with the title)

    Awake I sleep along the path of life -- this death I dream,
    Barely conscious of things around not active it doth seem --
    That I asleep could be awake in life's tempest, this storm.
    Is it really true? -- No I don't know, I say in voice forlorn.

    Why all the confusion, the turmoil, the stress that we all
    must endure in life's restless twining? --and yet we hear the call,
    To a higher plane we know we must somehow attain - - -
    And yet is there a plan to make it finally, fully plain?

    Purposelessness seems, --yes, to me, it doth too often so much prevail
    As if in birth pangs me, a man, must like a woman - - - travail.
    And so I carry on in life I know not when it will end.
    Why should I look to death instead of life as if he were my friend?

    Dart doth this peaceful pain from me to and fro.
    Friends there be not many, but few, alas and so,
    They fade each one into his own abode, leaving me alone.
    Selflessness there seems to be none; only each who seeks his own.

    How then shall I seek as I upon this clod I trod so dark?
    Reality does not reveal its face; it is so stark!
    Alone I travail; I must, I can't, I will! …continue in this way
    What, who, why, how, shall deliver me this day I pray?

    Oh you who look with judgment, you think you are so smart.
    Doth there not appear a little love out of your dark black heart?
    Who do you think you are, along this path so called life?
    Why you who must be so attentive to cause others so much strife?

    You tattle tale and gossip of truth you know nothing of.
    You don't get it from the Father, it's not of a heart of love
    You manufacture truth, though it comes from the fiery pit
    As if somehow a glowing coal anointed your slimy slippery lip.

    I tire of you old faithless truth; you dark and blackened lie!
    You think your words with a knot this painful blight will tie?
    You stink to high heaven friend, -- you who doth offer your brand of kindness.
    Your motives are pure as hell!, so go there too to his majestic highness!

    So of a truth you mimic the god of this world --- this realm we dirst call time;
    Darkness is your soul from whence comes such filthy putrid slime!
    We look forward to your demise, ol' enemy, my dear friend;
    When will your deception come to a fiery hell bound end?

    If there is a hell, is there anyone any more deserving?
    Oh you who deceive with your words, faithless ever swerving
    To truly feign friendship, of a truth you are a master!
    Your lies will easily come upon your head when you experience your own disaster.

    Who will you then befriend my, friend: when you face your own calamity?
    Your goody two shoe attitude with self-righteous depravity
    Me thinks you will figure a way, to bring even that one we call the devil!
    If it requires an elevator to bring him up, down to your level. Bigbttt

    © 2014 Kenneth B. Jr., Lockhart

    Part 3

    Sequel to Awake "The Nordic Blast of WisenCrap"
    December 30 2014

    Hello everyone, who listens with doubtful ear!
    Didst thou forever think I would disappear?
    Dost thou think this one is crazy and a bit deranged?
    Then whilst thou not join in just now, enjoy with me mine pangs!

    To make a tale or rather a headst, a stone shall be one day;
    To mark an obscure grave thus marked shall I gently lay.
    Little notice dost those who say love they some the most;
    And I, from the pit of hell, doth then in jest, shall joust..

    Mourn all ye kin and other unknown folk and friends once dear,
    Who thought to care and yet betray a friend one once so dear.
    Dost thou gossipst and tale your bears upon the telephone;
    Not knowing I rest quite content, thou knowest not that I am now alone?

    I wonder what yon friend doth now do? Haven't heard from him in years.
    Not knowing the bitterness and the shedding of so many tears
    Hath streaked one's face, so nude so wet, what a shame and yet;
    You will never know or understand the pain and pangs of such a one I bet.

    Carry on old man, and my desends, my sisters and my brothers;
    Think not that I have gone, gathered to our late kins and mothers.
    You cared not at all really; you pretensed when I was alive and yet,
    If or when you should discover that I have gone before;
    You'll say with sooth upon your tooth, "we will all miss him"! I bet!

    Away with lies, you do not mourn; you put on such brilliant show!
    Not really thinking some day you too, will go the way I must go;
    In years, decades, yea centuries to come; who will remember you?
    Who will mourn better than you did my friend; though your mourning was not true.

    You feigned a tear, pretended with a smile to have really cared,
    As you remembered not just me but others unprepared;
    As you too will be that's for damn sure
    I guarantee you --- for sure, dear sir.

    Thus endeth my weary self-imposed epithet:
    Lest you without giving thought should forget,
    That I was here, I made a mark upon this earth you see:
    The proof of this is very clear, as you read this poetry.

    A Short Epithet:

    Oh, and one more thing lest I forget
    Shouldst you think I be in throes of depression yet
    This is a mere exercise, a release:
    To relax my mind: to be at ease.

    © 2014 Kenneth B. Jr., Lockhart

  • #2
    You are an intelligent writer ~ I absolutely love how you communicate in 2 & 3... And tell your wife her title choice is perfect.
    Thanks for sharing your release (I totally get it!) with each of us.


    • #3
      Thank you so very much Angela. You are too kind!