Taps

A momentary lapse of reasoning, synaptic shuffle, 

recalibration of the senses -- call it what 

you will, this black hole of being used 

up, broken down 

to the elementary essentials of who 

I was, is only the prophecy of an ending

being brought to bear.

 

Little by little an ideal became less and 

less the attainable idea, condensed 

to the contrived convergences 

of convenience, a cavity 

hollowed from the better intentions 

we’d hung and left 

to rot on the mantel. This grand cage, 

the padded perch, circle of content --

the forty pieces of silver promised to 

those who’d cross Jordan and 

lay down among the lambs 

at the last bugle call revealed 

for what it was -- our own betrayal. 

Though who among us resisted 

the temptation? Who 

didn’t buy into the hype, the ruse 

of a revolution without bullets, 

the easy road scraped clean of corpses? 

Who thought the way forward wasn’t 

shedding the skin of our forefathers,  

that entering Eden didn’t require an admission 

of being better than our brothers, 

that their grief was only the gripes 

of the sour apples left to perish 

along the way to the kingdom of comers?

Above the roar, the deer caught 

in the daze of the headlights, 

I pass over the son-scattered wadi, 

mindful of the carcasses, my own 

youthful ambitions, and try not to shed 

too many tears for fear 

some other child of the soil might rise 

to the bait of the insatiable crocs 

waiting for their next unsuspecting meal. 

Turning back, starting again, 

is never an alternative, repositioning 

the crossroads, finding yourself and 

going left this time instead -- once 

you made the choice the die were cast, 

the devil stitched the details, and 

the contract became enforceable --

you might remember but can’t erase 

the gulf between there and then,  

the here and now. 

Life is a once around 

merry- go-round. 

Once the music stops 

You have to get off, 

there’s no second ride. 

Ken e Bujold

Reviews

[Perdition]

Hey? Where's your will to be weird Ken? They are merely pathways of neurons that can be altered at will, up to you. We are in the crosshairs of our lacking into transcendence and once we see our up as down and down as forgivable than we are unstoppable. The body gives and the spirit fades when the air of condensed treason rises, but we are the treason of our own water as well, our own fate...WAKE UP!!!..lol. You have risen the pulse in this poem and I'm not so sure I agree which is wonderful because I am questioning the thought. Be it all that may the talent of your poetry is untouched, unaltered. The hand has not betrayed the mind so wherever the cereal milk is ..I say we pour out a huge bowl and go running straight out into that night...no need no need for a flashlight when poetry and petition are obliviously within. Race ya to the end of our beginning...GO!! A wonderful poem, as always Ken...more of a Journal/Cantos/Opera/Epic if you ask me but that is merely me saying you are indeed that talented. Wanna borrow a shovel?..lol.

[Nima.Hope]

You are surely a keen fan of "Pink Floyd" ken, I really like the phrase "A momentary lapse of reason".
You use the words correctly as a weaopn to shout at the audience. The last stanza was charming to me.
Nima

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks for stopping by Nina, hope all is well. as to Floyd, no not really. I was and am still a child of the late 70s, punk-new wave generation. Stiff little fingers, jam, clash, costello, television, the list goes on and on. the arena rockers were never my cup of tea..to borrow another title from floyd, they left me comfortably numb :)

[Nima.Hope]

You're welcome dear Ken, I would've come earlier if my vpn could connect( I have to use vpn to access this site in Iran). Not all Pink Floyd materials are my favorite but there are about 5 songs which I like from Floyd, the top of them is "Comfortably Numb". You've lived in Canada so you know much more rockers than I do because I was born and raised in a censored middle-east lol.
Tastes are different.
Wish you the best
Nima

[willweb]

Another winding tale woven around ones actual journeys whether they include a merry go round or not. Robert Johnson stood at those crossroads and had a brief conversation with the devil, that didn't exactly work out as well as he had hoped but it was his life and that was his choice. We all have choices and we all have paths we follow...all we can hope is that when we reach the end we are still smiling. Nice one my friend. I leanr so much reading you

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks will. this one was an interesting one to read. opening V in various forms had been kicking around in my head of what seemed forever, weeks for sure. then this version clicked and i started down the road, though was really sure where I was headed. just meandering along...a little rant a little observation a little wisdom ... until 90 % of the way through it all clicked. despite placement the last verse was written before the two in front of it, which clicked in an ascending order, ie next to last to next to next to last

[willweb]

Ah...makes perfect sense to me. : )

[keith]

what an appropriate title ... TAPS
this is not a sad song nor is it disillusioned
the nail has been hit on the head with this powerful message that deserves reading more than once or twice
this is a celebration of self
an opened arm gesture ... here i am!

well done deserving more than thanks
i hear ya!

[John the Baptist]

Bitterness and disillusionment hang heavy over this one. The tone is that of a former idealist with high expectations for whom things didn't turn out as planned. War imagery permeates the poem, though I get the feeling actual physical combat is not what is being referred to. The defeats and disappointments of life, the demise of "youthful ambitions" are the scattered corpses of the speaker's life. The work ends with a sense of defeat, with no chance of redemption. Not your basic upper here.

[W. Barrett Munn]

Well, friend, when you put your mind to it you are damned good. Have you used a pen name in your past? Ashbery? Wallace?
Powerful stuff here.

Winston

[Ken e Bujold]

thank you ever so much for the high praise. I have to be on my game to keep up with the Munn-ster

[Betty Hermelee]

Once you choose your path in life, there is no turning back.... it may turn out to be horrendous and regrettable but that was your own selection..."the die were cast"....that was then and here is now...I believe that your life was troubled as you speak of so many dreadful events; many of us choose the wrong path and it continues to be that cycle until you die..... This is a heavy poem Ken and well thought out and well written... I read it several times trying to digest between the words...
Best, B

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks for the read Betty. My life has been very rewarding, career and love wise. This poem hints more to the classism that exists in our societies, that left many of the ones i was born with behind. While some would claim you get as far as your talents, I know that is hardly ever the case. Born poor and working class was tough enough in the 60s and 70s, now its tantamount to a life long sentence of poverty. For the handful who climb out and make good through ways other than sports and entertainment, the priviledged shout ...SEE SEE SEE, so they don't have to look or acknowlege the hundreds of millions left in the wake. Easy to claim equity and equality when one starts the marathon at the 26th mile. Pissed me off then and now. And so it runs through my work. While peeps often mistake it for disillusionment or bitterness, its not. It's just my saying what I think needs to be said.
Once again, thanks for kindness of your review and the time to read it (more than once :) )

[Betty Hermelee]

Thank you Ken for the excellent content explanation...and you're welcome!!
Best, B