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18:25
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Words Much Like Poetry
I skirt along the edge of something wonderful
but I know not what destiny resides at its core
I have made my wish, rubbed the lamp of fate
will it be granted?
I see a host of blessings amidst
threads woven at the loom of hope
their aura but barely reaches me
from within the garden of miracles
I almost smell the cool dewy beyond
bathe in the promise of a heart's paradise
the comforting green upon my feet
in the looking glass of diamond drops
will my wish be granted?
I long for this palpitating flutter to be calmed
the storm of mind overcast to be appeased
with but a word from the angel of promise
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19:55
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Words Much Like Poetry
as it falls, so will I
as it falls, I will stumble
as it falls, so will tears
as it falls, I can no longer be comforted
it is dark, I have lost my way
it is dark, did I willingly give myself?
it is dark, it swallows my heart
it is dark, I grope for light with desperation
the thunder sings to my soul
and the lightning rhymes with the storm in my mind
the grey skies haunt the depths of mine heart
sorrow drives me to a place long ago past
I long for it to wash away my tribulations
its hum to calm my wounded spirit
its hush to whisper comfort in my ear
its coldness to cool my boiling mind
I grope at forgotten comforts
frivolous abandonment of exploits past
memories of liberating laughter
simple comfort of friendly chatter
I am unsteady, the earth yields
I fall, it betrays me over again
it suffocates me sadistically
and snatches my warm comfort in its flood
suddenly, I long for the torrents
to sweep me away from myself
carry me to a place of reprieve
wrench my soul from this aching husk
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21:41
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Words Much Like Poetry
i feel beleaguered by the vastness of promise
that was conferred upon me as a new creation,
had i been contrived as nothing more than mere mortal woman,
i, perhaps, would not suffer the strain of consciousness
of that which is in my power to achieve.
i am weary of my power, though,
regardless that it has aided me in attaining
that which should have been beyond my scope,
i ache for inconsistency,
i long to pass the hours of my unending acquaintance with self
as a nymph who owes only the world
the grace of her beauty.
ha! alas,
i am obliged to place myself to great use,
and the mountains quake and the sea recedes
in fear of my passing,
"take heart," i say,
"i shall be a graceful conqueror."
and in turn that which inevitably falls under my rule
bows kindly, for naught can begrudge me
the fulfillment of accomplishing that which was always
solely mine to procure.
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16:37
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Words Much Like Poetry
once upon a morning of desperate fervor
born of rage and thundering menace
oddities ride the shadow of a bloody sunrise
anger ignites my soul to blazing brands
this world of cruelties and untold woes
my ire consumes to righteous ashes
avenges the fracture of innocent gems
tears down monoliths of pain
the fantastic shroud falls
from a waking vision of fiery wrath
and unreal yearning to be endowed as the powers that be
that possess me in the wake of humanity's agonies
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21:55
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Words Much Like Poetry
he walks the empty filled streets, hearing only the echo of his footsteps amid the thunder of a thousand walks. there exists only himself, haunted by a deep loneliness. an empty heartbeat is his only companion.
it has been a year since sadness befell him, and the magic of the enchanted stirred within. how can days be so empty, yet teeming with life? oh how the halls echo in his empty cry. her image haunts him, and agony halts his step, heavy and daunting.
she is his destiny, and she denied him
he cannot have another, her place can never be filled
when will this road paved with pain ever end?
the hopes within have withered, there stands only a weeping willow amidst.the future only reveals darkness, he sees not a minute to it.the shadows play pranks creeping about, shaping her ghoulish figure. the air of fairy wood paints her vividly in his mind. he longs for his tribulations to empty forth in a flood, but not even a trickle will oblige him.the coffers of the weeping will offer him no solace.
she is his life, he walks the realm of the dead while living.
he cannot embrace another, she only is his comfort
will he be ever free of this dungeon of the forlorn?
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16:07
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Words Much Like Poetry
my muse, my inspiration, the grail from which flows my youth, why have you abandoned me? what has chased you away? I am crippled, limping - my mind travels to the depths of a broken spirit in search of you. why have you abandoned me?
all I have left is your residue. I am incomplete. I know not true joy when you are gone. jubilation dies as it bursts forth aborted by pain. I will the ground to open up and swallow me every time I cannot find you. you used to tell me jokes, and hilarious notes. you used to make me smile by myself when you reminded me of pranks past.
return to me, only you can heal me. I will go to the ends of the earth to search for you, if that is what it takes. I would tear out this aching heart that locks the door to your prodigal return, but it is where you reside, it is from where you feed my happiness. Return grace unto me, erase this nightmarish agony that haunts my waking moments.
whisper distractions into my ear, I need them, this pain consumes my every smile.
return to me, only you can uplift me. I lie at the bottom of sadness, alone.
whisper happiness into my ear, I need it, I am distraught without it.
return to me, I beg you! return to me...
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15:22
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Words Much Like Poetry
upon this highway of assumed privilege I walk, not yet fully realized, the miracle of my existence
grace accorded me from birth, a richness in poverty bequeathed.
I watch as earth wealth souls hurry past me and stumble, they look to me with eternal pain
my feet are bare and cracked, I curse my lack of treasure and never notice the velvet path laid for me
I watch vanity filled souls stagger past and fall into endless chasms, yet I curse my lack of charm and attraction
I long for these empty fatal pleasures.
my vision is veiled, I fail to see those who walk upright are crippled,
their souls imperiled
they ride a juggernaut to impending doom
one from which painful lashes and love have held me from
the path is snatched from beneath
when an epiphany opens my eyes to the world
and realize I must now build my own path
lest I stumble to the sidewalks of lackluster
I realize I must rescue the fallen in my path
and rekindle their passion for living
share in the sheer joy of lack, and its misery
be grateful for inherited generosity
share it with lost and starved souls
and in the end, the gem that is my joy
is only cut from the smiles of contentment
the peace unbroken spirits
and the words of a kindred spirit
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11:24
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Words Much Like Poetry
Upon this highway of assumed privilege I walk
not yet fully realized the miracle of my existence
grace accorded me from birth
a richness in poverty bequeathed
I watch as earth wealth souls hurry past me and stumble,
they look at to me with eternal pain
my feet are bare and cracked, I curse my lack of treasure
and never notice the velvet path laid for me
I watch vanity filled souls stagger past
and fall into endless chasms
yet I curse my lack of charm and attraction
I long for these empty fatal pleasures
my vision is veiled, I fail to see those who walk upright
are crippled, their souls imperiled
they ride a juggernaut to impending doom
one from which painful lashes and love have held me from
the path is snatched from beneath
when an epiphany opens my eyes to the world
and realize I must now build my own path
lest I stumble to the sidewalks of lackluster
I realize I must rescue the fallen in my path
and rekindle their passion for living
share in the sheer joy of lack, and its misery
be grateful for inherited generosity
share it with lost and starved souls
and in the end, the gem that is my joy
is only cut from the smiles of contentment
the peace unbroken spirits
and the words of a kindred spirit
Photo courtesy of wirelesschaos as seen on
flickr.com/photos/chaoyang/2413558276/
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18:52
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Words Much Like Poetry
scripted predestinations
equations and revelations bombard my mind, I cannot hold the weight. company bequeathed me, a fresh page of hidden words and mysteries. the quill of life writes unexpected verses, full of anathema and exclamations. destiny and fate, a writ the heavens scribe. my heart stands upon a rail, I am not allowed to deviate from the path.
of beauty and fragrance, vanities and sweet palpitations, I partake. the road to agony is predestined. control has been denied me. I am drunk from this elixir, addiction to it will be my undoing. like a moth I am pulled toward the light, my fatal attraction. words tear upon my soul, every letter a stake to my heart. all grows dark, my path a road of spikes.
the cry
unscythe me before I bleed out
release me, I choke at the tether
unchain me, the iron burns
breath to me, this lack light suffocates me
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23:01
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Words Much Like Poetry
against the backdrop of the western set forbidding star,
upon the faded sands of a shore lacked of principle,
the lone and reserved shade of a figure,
once tucked into the opaque retreats of shameful recall,
has gathered before me in full form,
about him eddies brume
of a like which suspends the odyssey of the existent,
and through stolen doorways in the corridors of time
arrives me at the misdeeds of my youth.
and the shade, now the actuality of an intimate,
an agate, crafted into a likening perception
yet dissimilar in embodiment,
a one cherished through the dividing lengths
of expanses both briny and continuous,
looks coldly upon me.
"here," he says, "within the clouded past,
lie occurrences which are approximate to crimes:
caprice of nature, which bred a ferocious neglect
for them who never sought your hibition,
would have reveled in the untamed essence you displayed
had you only trusted,
and too, you were brim of notions
that refuted the morality
engaged upon you from infancy,
indulgences that consumed your inner resplendence,
and compensated your anima
with a disbursement of darkness."
so confronted, with the backlash of a broken character,
the vengeance wreaked upon faultless personages,
i kneel upon the crystal akin sand, which bites deep
into intentions no longer used to such given praises,
and say to extinction and aggregate,
"the comportment i have affected,
in the generations since the vagary of my minority,
has done little to find me solace,
no consolation, no dependable release,
all that has been accomplished
is the spawning of dissension within my vital force.
i beg you tell me,
how then do i find atonement,
when i have become so estranged from the certitudes
that were once eminently comparable
to typical matters?"
Image: Anna Cervova, Sunset Sky, Public Domain Pictures.net
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11:28
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Words Much Like Poetry
the ground waves to salute my succulent bliss
its accent not without an unheard scream
the gauntlet has been served, its rim I will kiss
the portal to my waking dream
sirens call to me
why will that record not cease to repeat?
my sorrows chime and won't let me be
I will be naught to defeat
I go up the upside down stair
heaven will be my hell
despair my repair
will conundrums my fortune tell?
The never ending spiral my straight
upon the brink tribulations pour up to me
across the chasm I need a street
darkness boils scalding my glee
The path goes straight back to itself
sanity dogs me, taunting me to desperation
the ladder is too short, and reason stands upon a shelf
save me from this labyrinth of desecration!
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11:38
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Words Much Like Poetry
this elation is a beautiful high. I do not want it to go away
it is a rare gem to find
this laughter within longs to bubble out into the world
and rain on everyone
The tiny smile in front of me gives me this simple joy
her laughter touches the darkness in my soul and takes it away
her innocence is my second chance
and her eyes melt my every worry
tears well up in my eyes and I cannot hold them back
I take her and hold her close to me and she holds my cheeks with both hands
I look at her and wonder if she understands
she touches her forehead with mine and smiles
another bout of beautiful joy bursts from within me and I start to laugh
she looks bewildered for a moment then starts to laugh too
a beautiful tiny laugh that grows louder as I spin, holding her up high
and in that moment, nothing else matters, she is my second chance
........ my saving grace
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21:50
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Words Much Like Poetry
the air is slightly stale, and I am surprised I do not grimace to it. at least the floor is not very cold and I wonder at its rough comfort. the smell of leather will be my companion tonight for it is from the one solid thing I own here.
the yearning has not subsided, in fact, it is more intense now. I choke at the consequent emotion, and anger rises up my throat and I wonder if tears would help. I know they will not come to me, they have not for a long while. I blink at the darkness, willing my eyes to glue shut and for a second I muse at the curiosity of a certain mystery.... at which point my mind screams for light, but in a hushed voice, barely audible from even within me. the thirst for it is a contradictory need, as I yearn for this stifling darkness to swallow me.
the leg jerks at a touch, just as virtual grace steals me away into the summer heat, into square pavements bustling, breathing and alive... they will not come to me, and I shut my eyes so tight it hurts. a different breeze wafts in, carrying with it evidence of a basic human nature. I welcome its stinging distraction from my chainless shackles. my mind slowly lets go of its cyclic thoughts, a frustrating prison of tight unyielding polythene skin. I claw at it as it chokes me, tightens all around me, denying me air.
they will not come to me, I must be strong, the thread holding me is unraveling. is this the road to insanity? it cannot be...
they will not come to me. there is no shame to it. but still, they deny me momentary solace. should I turn to look? the glitter might be my window to mental freedom, it is light within darkness. but what is a drop of water upon perched lips, if the whole draught will not be mine.
they will not come to me, and another light steals me from within the darkness, though only for a short long while.
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8:58
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Words Much Like Poetry
ritualistic conferences, and coaxed sentiments. the moment gains momentum, and she becomes iridescent. toasts weave the air with mystery while all else fades, fatalistic pairing grows beneath. adoring mists waft by and gives them wings. songs of the butterfly's flutter cajole their souls to intoxicating heights.
time stops and the stair to cupid's nest seems never ending. the mystery of her skin is unhidden, as silk hugs, pouring down applauding goosebumps. she purrs a murmur as fingertips call silently to hidden depths, streams of titillation flow from her every pore. a squeal escapes her as eddies travel up her spine. a whisper of vanities heralds a pain that bursts forth with pleasure.
upon the feathers she is laid, mystery heightened by her closed curtains. the buds upon her bosom rise to meet ice. the fires within burn at it, water flowing to drop on velvet petals, glittering like dew. with a parting, the flower blossoms, and the honeysuckle hovers close to consume the elixir.
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12:07
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Words Much Like Poetry
by Kerri Miller (Guest Author)
I am withstanding the fire of lies
you have thrown against me.
Charcoled black
I stand firm upon what is real.
The deceit you spread
comes toward me with little effect
or emotion on my part.
I am separated from you forever,
I dwell with the trusting and pleasant,
not the vindictive and dishonest.
Affected?
Sure I am.
But it feels so much better
being away from you
than it did having you near.
Your mouth pronounces words of gossip
and you speak of things you have no idea.
It was only one day
that you were my disaster
and now it’s a new day;
with my life ahead of me
I walk firmer than ever
more aware of what not to do.
Given the ability to see inside people’s hearts
I looked at yours
and everything was black
and why would anyone want that?
12-04-03
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11:53
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Words Much Like Poetry
in all its unscrupulous splendor
and the pleasures of plunder
it deprives me of my tranquility
with its treacherous virility
I am bathed in its eerie mists
intoxicating and enchanting it persists
yet without substance and respite
my very being pursues it despite
the withdrawals agonizing and crippling
all is dark in the moment, the abyss grappling
then a momentary silence of the moan
with a faint hope it'll last past the morn
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11:41
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Words Much Like Poetry
I submitted this poem to Poetry.com and it qualified for the semi-finals in May 2002. It was published in the poetry collection book 'Letters from the soul' slated to have been released in Fall 2002.
Sing with me
mother nature
as I am one with thee
in my gloom,
and glee
sigh with me,
at the dusk
and darkness
in my heart
hark, my cry
when on my knees,
heal me!
and rise with me,
at the dawn,
of the new me
stronger
no longer
bound
but free
for always
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1:10
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Words Much Like Poetry
my cobalt city,
my indigo restraint,
i thought to grow my wings here,
to hone each gallant feather
upon the flustering streets,
the agitated walkways
that run several countries
and cultures deep,
i did not expect an aviary
to bound out of the metropolis,
to spring closed and laud my seizure,
but it has, but it did.
i've gauged the reach
it would take to appropriate my license,
the unending azure sky
needs only half as many strides to cross,
and the good auspices have gone calling on others.
come then defeat and take their place,
let our association begin,
turn me 'round the city's bend,
tap me in celtic fashion
at the entrance to the empire state,
roam with me the botanical gardens
and that place, central park,
mourn with me, also,
the ground that numbers nil.
hide from me, though,
my lady liberty,
sight of her would surely persuade me
to shed my winter skins,
to stand taller as the trees do
when the birds return their weights,
to quiet the strums of the guitar blues
and sway instead to the rhythm
of unseen drums,
marching me along to battle once more
for the immunity of flight,
the prerogative to soar.
Image: Wamuhu Mwaura, Blue New York, 2009
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0:23
»
Words Much Like Poetry
by Antony Kamau (Guest Author)
the air is slightly stale, and i am surprised i do not grimace to it. at least the floor is not very cold and i wonder at its rough comfort. the smell of leather will be my companion tonight for it is from the one solid thing i own here.
the yearning has not subsided, in fact, it is more intense now. i choke at the consequent emotion, and anger rises up my throat and i wonder if tears would help. i know they will not come to me, they have not for a long while. i blink at the darkness, willing my eyes to glue shut and for a second i muse at the curiosity of a certain mystery.... at which point my mind screams for light, but in a hushed voice, barely audible from even within me. the thirst for it is a contradictory need, as i yearn for this stifling darkness to swallow me.
the leg jerks at a touch, just as virtual grace steals me away into the summer heat, into square pavements bustling, breathing and alive... they will not come to me, and i shut my eyes so tight it hurts. a different breeze wafts in, carrying with it evidence of a basic human nature. i welcome its stinging distraction from my chainless shackles. my mind slowly lets go of its cyclic thoughts, a frustrating prison of tight unyielding polythene skin. i claw at it as it chokes me, tightens all around me, denying me air.
they will not come to me, i must be strong, the thread holding me is unraveling. is this the road to insanity? it cannot be...
they will not come to me. there is no shame to it. but still, they deny me momentary solace. should i turn to look? the glitter might be my window to mental freedom, it is light within darkness. but what is a drop of water upon parched lips, if the whole draught will not be mine.
they will not come to me, and another light steals me from within the darkness, though only for a short long while.
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0:08
»
Words Much Like Poetry
by Antony Kamau (Guest Author)
in all its unscrupulous splendor
and the pleasures of plunder
it deprives me of my tranquility
with its treacherous virility
I am bathed in its eerie mists
intoxicating and enchanting it persists
yet without substance and respite
my very being pursues it despite
the withdrawals agonizing and crippling
all is dark in the moment, the abyss grappling
then a momentary silence of the moan
with a faint hope it'll last past the morn
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14:18
»
Words Much Like Poetry
"Someone may have stolen your dream when it was young and fresh and you were innocent. Anger is natural. Grief is appropriate. Healing is mandatory. Restoration is possible." ~ Jane Rubietta
I stole away my own dreams with the mistakes that I made, but I am not uncommon in that respect.
The majority of the women in my circle of friends are single moms, like myself, and I'm sure the world over knows the trials and tribulations of women as us very well.
Forgive my anger, but what right does that then give a stranger to disparage me?
I've done the best that I could with the resources available to me, longing for more, but never asking for it. Poverty is not an easy thing to overcome, though, and I tire of the struggle of redefining my station.
I wish I could turn away from the world at times, bury myself in the hot sand and bask in that ceaseless warmth, but I can't. Who would take care of my children if I did? What a saving grace they are, little human forms wrapped in justification and renewal. But they can only heal a portion of my fractured spirit. The rest... Only Providence can say.
Image: Michael Lukas Leopold Willman, Landscape with the Dream of Jacob, 1691
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17:57
»
Words Much Like Poetry
My stomach starts to coil in knots whenever I think of betraying the story of my life and placing it upon a public medium or forum where all those who care to read it may read it.
I find poetry safer, much less stark than prose. Metaphor allows for obscurity, veiled and hinted meanings that are open to speculation and conclusion but remain unconfirmed.
I begin to wonder, though, if I've lost something in my strides toward more complex verse. Do grief and misery become things lessened by lack of proper exposition? I hope not, for the exorcism of words is without use then, and I've failed to find relief in the telling.
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11:24
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Words Much Like Poetry
"I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all." ~Richard Wright,
American Hunger, 1977
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0:11
»
Words Much Like Poetry
i've been away,
a journey through thoughts and feelings,
and if by chance i stumbled over doubts
from years departed,
mistakes made in imitation of perfect calculation,
frames of mind i assumed vanished,
then that is my affliction.
no, they are ever prevalent
for the city's bend has brought me full circle,
to the realization that
i haven't gone anywhere.
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22:20
»
Words Much Like Poetry
by Kerri Miller (Guest Author)
I ain't scared to be sensitive
I may take but I also give
that's just how I've learned to live
bottled up emotions
can cause a big explosion
get it out
n keep on going
so u can see results
of the seeds you sowin'.
Can't be anything other then myself
you can take the time to read between the lines
or you can just place me on the shelf
either way it's okay
I'm accepting the pain
more like the quote
of no pain no gain.
I can no longer remain weak
let these tears streak my cheeks
cuz I got to succeed
I got to find me
find my meaning
relentlessly wandering
down life's crooked path
deciphering the good from the bad
but end up confused by the math
I close my eyes and get taken back
memories unfolding my past
set me sideways from making it last
shoulda, coulda, woulda
but I didn't
and you don't
and I will
but you won't.
Tug of war
is the best description
for how I live
and what I envision.
Tired of the games
pointing and names
driving me insane
so I pulled hard on the reignzzzz.
Second chances
come once in lifetime
and I saw mine
up that rope I climbed
who woulda thought I'd find
a way to leave what's been behind?
An inner struggle
on the daily
no if ands or maybes
life is real my baby
time's ticking
life's worth living
an open heart giving
that's the definition
of modern living.
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21:57
»
Words Much Like Poetry
Is this my new beginning, that point where old roads close and never drift again into the lane that I've now forged? Is this where the grand pedestal I've placed my independence upon finally stops quaking?
I'm braver now than I ever was, though the fears still lurk in the darkened corners of night. I want, I need, I must, I will!
I will, because they need me to. Because if I don't then there was no point in taking the risk.
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20:21
»
Words Much Like Poetry
at year's end, remembrances captured on the still water glass
of my well preserved faculty, echo in the manner of visions
unto the fragmented depths of my dual faceted mind's eye.
I. The First Facet
in chestnut hue, majority of that inner iris,
play acts of an eagerly sought after awakening,
devised into scenes where each individual longing,
and its token response, is given character and speech.
KISS [
murmuring in discreet tones, yearningly]
where might the ready path to fulfillment be
amid such wanting avenues, will ever i see
a sparing of my year long misery?
RESPONSE [
reassuringly]
your lips contentment will be granted by mine
in those unseen lanes i'll garnish with rose and vine,
sip for sip our breath will entwine.
TOUCH [
searching for meaning in articulated thought]
o, how wondrous it seems in speculation,
true embrace, the consummation,
but is there truth in that declaration?
RESPONSE [
persuasively]
question not my intent,
each communion will solely be meant
to bring you respite from the twelvemonth ascent.
HEART [
tensely, breathlessly excited]
know, that all i have ever searched for
is a place where i might slip blithely through the door
that has kept my wings jaded and forgotten them how to soar.
RESPONSE [
affirmatively]
i am that place which you seek,
i am that place through which you will sneak,
i am that which will bring light to what was once bleak.
II. The Second Facet
in tones of moonless night, are found grim brush strokes,
predictable disenchantment, despite all that was exchanged,
which lingers callously upon the canvas of my being,
for the kiss which was denied me
through four seasons of waiting.
Image: A Sunlit Glade by Léon Germain Pelouse
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15:23
»
Words Much Like Poetry
"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." ~ Dr. Seuss
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15:14
»
Words Much Like Poetry
"Each new generation born is in effect an invasion of civilization by little barbarians, who must be civilized before it is too late."
~ Thomas Sowell
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20:55
»
Words Much Like Poetry
"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.
i did not mean to be silent for so long.
nor did i mean to gather my self-pity
and lay it about me,
a moat to the castle of my heart.
i did not think of the betrayal my silence would be
to those who had dedicatedly constructed
majestic tower rooms, placed at loving heights,
distinctly for my solace,
if ever i had need of them.
but, know also,
that i did not wish to place a strain
upon the unstinting love that had been proffered me,
friendships nurtured through years
that exist only in memory,
by tendering the account of my trials
as they occurred.
i thought my tragedies best told in the sullen aftermath,
when the sound of their relation
would have come across as nothing more than muted noises
to ears that were ringing
with the livid memories of my misery.
it is only in retrospect that the damage
my eager silence might have caused—
distance as insurmountable as a great wall
unbroken by any form of gate or entrance—
becomes as radiant as a crystal palace
which stands luminous in the light of certain, unavoidable truths.
i cannot be sure that apology is enough.
nor can i be sure of the worth of that regret,
i am naught but a flawed animal,
fallible and comforted by the customs that define me.
Visual by
www.PDImages.com
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16:27
»
Words Much Like Poetry
brief glances, imparted under flirtatious design,
the sizing of possibility's true measure,
drift irrepressible speculations to the forefront
of a perplexedly sensual mind.
those musings—of scalding pressure,
applied in desperate finesse,
to the gracious curves of woman's bend—
set nervous lips to smiling in frank longing
as pins prick blushed and dimpled cheeks.
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22:00
»
Words Much Like Poetry
it is not that i do not thirst for knowledge
or pay mind to the concept of the day,
but at times it seems as if that territory,
that place where issues coalesce then spill forth,
is as foreign to me as the moon.
i cannot expound in writ upon the dark man,
about the drudgery that was enforced upon him,
and the poverty that then befell him.
nor can i construct rhetoric,
drawn of a century and more,
whereupon the grand tale of his struggle to find dignity
in a world which seemed designed to vilify him
would find me acclaim.
only in spoken exchange can i extol my thoughts
on how he has redefined his talents,
the dark man is no longer a universal object of disparagement,
now he is close friend and perfect complement
to that which was held pedestaled above
the reach of his competent palm.
and the ability that was always his due,
as it is woman's due,
has not stopped old glory
from snapping sharply in the breeze.
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18:29
»
Words Much Like Poetry
time streams forward,
a winding procession
that no longer plays of suffering,
the myriad disappointments have rested eternal
and the discontentment of the last few ages
has faded out,
soft strings plucked in sharp concord.
oddly, though, no true claim of authorship
exists upon happiness,
too much of the legend of my sensibilities
remains unwritten.
they are no less consuming,
these immense volumes of shelved feeling,
no less a much sited source of tribulation
in this new interim.
my heart persists as a multi-faceted jewel,
chiming fervent prisms about the enclosure
of crimson and ivory which houses it.
my wishfully soaring soul
survives the cast of still shadows,
ribbons of dark matter that fetter it
to the waste of an unforgiving past.
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21:11
»
Words Much Like Poetry
NOTE: This is a previously published work (Poetry.com - ©2008). I wrote it in the latter part of 2007 and is my second publication to date. This work is being presented in its originally published form.
With thanks,
Múhua starburst does not forget,
no matter how bright its flame;
it does not burn away
the thread of memory.
it consciousness,
of brilliant orange spectrum,
can still envision,
with fiery inner eye,
scenes of wrenching pain;
its feverish epidermis
can still sustain hurts;
its seething auricles
can still drink in insults,
murmured in the barest of whispers,
insults which echo timelessly in loud orbits,
artificial satellites that resist destruction,
close as they are
to the devouring element.
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22:23
»
Words Much Like Poetry
NOTE: This is a previously published work (Mom Writer's Literary Magazine - Online Issue, Spring 2007). It was written a number of years ago, at perhaps the lowest point in my life. I would like to share it, though (as it was my first publication, I'm quite proud of it). It was written in a style which is completely varied from the tone I now use in my poetry, so please forgive the few revisions I have made. To view the poem as it was originally published, please visit
[www.momwriterslitmag.com].
Thank you!
is this the price of passion,
a life filled with remorse, needless struggle and all-consuming pain
a life filled with self-pity, self-loathing and never-ending strife?
i grieve for what never was and what shall never be.
what has my life become?
a river of tears that scathe my face with their heat,
their constancy,
i am alone in my fears, alone in my pain,
alone in my strife
he caused it, little one.
caused the stress, the tears which sap my strength
robbing me of any chance that i had of being a real mother.
where does that leave me?
i have become my mother's daughter,
and no amount of tears, of shame
can cause the man that is your father, little one,
to offer me respite.
forgive me it is all i can do to keep us alive,
i could never harm you, little one,
yet i fear that i already have.
i lack independence, lack stability,
i can offer you nothing.
what did i do to deserve this?
o, but i know what i did,
though i never thought i would pay for it
with the rest of my life.
i have suffered so long now
and there is no end to my pain in sight.
i wish the morrow would bring better tidings,
a better life.
i fear the suffering that awaits such an innocent creature,
such an innocent child
if nothing is done to improve our quality of life.
my soul screams with the injustice of it all,
and i find, once more, that i wish for death.
but i have already done so much in this life,
i fear for my immortal soul.
is this the price of passion?
destitution and a life lacking pride,
lacking the courage to raise my tear stained face to the sky,
hear me, o lord!
bring me respite, an end to this ache which causes my soul unrest
i have not the strength for such struggles,
i have not the strength to watch my life crumble,
crumble beneath the weight of the world,
i have nothing left in me and there is no heart left
in this place in which i was born,
what's more i cannot watch the man that i love
turn from me yet another time.
laughable that i consider him before myself,
a man who is selfish and unworthy,
for what kind of man tells such a frail creature as i,
"be strong."
the very struggles i endure, he himself cannot,
he cannot bear the kind of life that i live,
would rather die than see himself shamed.
a little sacrifice on his part would go a long way.
but, either he cannot or will not,
i fear it is simply that he will not.
see what my life has become,
i despise the world for its lack of caring,
i despise myself for living so long.
how is it that my body does not buckle under such weight,
how is it that, despite the death of my soul, my body still lives?
o, but i know.
it is the price i must pay for passion.
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11:36
»
Words Much Like Poetry
an a capella of sinful verse as intro,
then the song of ages begins to play,
a serenade to this conference of familiar strangers,
and, o, how my veins thrill to the sound of those gospel truths
hummed along elicited receptors to consecrated need,
sweet, sweet substance need,
which centers upon a refined hollow of wept materiality.
and, in offer of respite
from the steep incline of torturous agitation,
you lay upon me a coarse vernacular,
a language with which i am knowledgeable,
though your dialect and diction are—
prior to this engagement—woefully unknown,
and further, in search of the spare,
you make complete my elegant casing,
a superficial extent you serve well
with a falchion of sainted yearning.
thus, we arrive at the beginning of wonder,
privity and insight, approval and commendation,
closely after which rhythm follows,
the chant of the possession, the murmur of the yield,
a joining trip of the light fantastic,
and into that bargain, come the various catastrophes.
firstly, the encroaching tide,
a flood of sensationally hued waters channeled of a soft parting,
secondly, the shift of the tectonic,
the lines of fault stemming of a staggered and quaking heart,
thirdly, the celestial burn,
the zenith of the fueled core,
and lastly, o at last,
the coveted return and its penurious successor,
blessed surcease, hallowed cessation.
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10:46
»
Words Much Like Poetry
at highest hilltop, i pause world-worn bones
and gaze below at the indigent state
where, in beggarly raiment, i reside.
a sullying fate, this circumstance of impoverishment,
from which there seems no evasion,
and insipid tales of the daily warfare of tenement life,
soar about me in stentorian dimensions—
no quiet remonstraters, these querulous folk,
no soft sighers here.
i would shield my ears, if i could,
cup my hands, in reverent imitation
of the seakeeper shell,
and listen, instead, to the whirl of my own blood ocean,
think on, rather, of the worth long declined me,
feel, preferably, as i once did when humility was not staple
and the banquet i feasted on
was the honor of my rightful gains.
form breaks and my knees land jarringly
upon the gradually changeable earth,
i make no sound, though my eyes are now fountains
and cascade salt ridden jets
upon the well travelled curvatures below.
no, i dare not waste breath
to make testimonials of my baleful happenings,
the grandiose fledged circles above,
and in this, the last act of the tragedy titled,
the silent adversity,
i finally speak.
"phoenix of renewal, smite me now with your flames!
bathe clean this defective manifestation,
broken of a more knowledgeable mold,
turn me into ash, then dust,
then call forth the four winds
to scatter me across the heavens
whereupon vindication might find me
and cast me yet again."
and the phoenix does so.
i awake in a new land,
not the indigent state with its lack of prosperity,
but a sprawling land
filled to the brim with fat years constructed of palmy days
filled with towering windfalls
and bounteous returns.
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12:54
»
Words Much Like Poetry
i have struggled, father,
since the conclusion of your account,
and most times, when my eyes opened
upon dreadful way stations,
skin stretched tight over a belly rounded by new life,
hope seemed like forgotten lore,
a tale vaguely remembered from early years
spent in the company of eternal dreamers.
but hope is surprisingly resilient,
and has no predetermined finale,
believers will carry it with them
unto planes intangible to mortal flesh
and will be born and reborn upon this
the realm of our existence,
returned to those of us who have lost faith
by wielders of infinite possibility,
fragile vessels conceived of obliged procreation,
of dutiful continuance.
o father, do not doubt,
the long years have returned hope to me,
embodied in progeny much labored for—
son who is now as a sapling, limbs long and bare,
fresh,
daughter who is as the essence of simplicity and delight,
what glory—
and misery be damned!
take flight an go you to reaches beyond,
i will not suffer your tainted love
for even one sunrise more!
and father, i forgive you the long years,
i forgive your abandonment of me
while still i moved through the haze of youth,
know that you were as to me a mountain,
all that held me together while you were still alive.
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21:45
»
Words Much Like Poetry
light flares and paper burns crisply,
leafy contents send acrid smoke trailing lazily skyward
and contentment swells starved lungs denied their usual fill,
long hours spent in demeaning wait,
in straight shoulder-back seated pose,
book of sonnets upon my lap,
mind screaming for release,
this world of seemingly needful empty hands
stretched out in greedy longing
so that lackluster days might continue on
through to life's end, does not suit me.
i do not belong amongst this lot,
i will not refrain from striving toward glory.
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15:42
»
Words Much Like Poetry
need flows like swift staccato beats of a jazzy trumpet piece
through the vault like chambers of my mournful heart,
which in turn sings of its despair, in a quivering contralto,
notes sustained longer than their normal duration,
a fermata having been placed over each,
a song which tells of the lack of symmetry
my life has been in for far too long,
of the lack of a mode of proper arrangement
for the poor state of affairs my house is in,
telling of my desire for order.
fear of never accomplishing this task
grips me in relentless measures,
a composition to be played forte,
and which leaves one gasping and overwhelmed at the crescendo,
driving unmercifully home the fact that i am steward
to two of the next generation,
son and daughter of vivacious spirit,
and that they require a solid foundation to build upon.
but while fear is a masterfully written piece that resonates throughout,
determination flounders and is rarely heard or felt
beyond the threshold of my inner sanctum,
a place i frequently visit
and stand before my reflection in critical manner,
and though i bleat at myself sharp reviews, often scathing remarks,
i cannot seem to find the method necessary to acquire order.
what now shall i do,
what more can i do?
i must accept the path trodden well by others,
sacrifice must come again in great number
for rewards that are as grains of sand,
insignificant when they are but a few.
the time will come, however,
when determination is a powerful sound,
a concerto of unwavering movements,
a definitive fork that marks the place
where i can finally veer off course
and plot a route that is all my own.
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22:53
»
Words Much Like Poetry
passion is no more than a bygone sentiment,
our ardor long extinguished itself,
and i've only vague impressions
of being as a fiercely lit conflagration within your arms.
i sift constantly through the ashes of that emotion,
in desperate search of an ember that might spark
and reignite the flame,
only to come away with nothing, fingers gray.
no, instead i have become as a black hole,
once the epitome of supernal magnificence
turned nova, then super,
o cataclysm, o crux,
o nervous breakdown, and insanity won,
becomes the epitome of nothingness,
an inky void which begins to draw
from everything that surrounds it.
laughter, the elixir of ages,
drained.
memories, of what sweet, small splendor there was,
lost.
tears, the outcome of heartache,
siphoned dry.
nothing is spared the inexorable pull,
the irresistible dark force, not even the light.
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19:01
»
Words Much Like Poetry
i've often been told that my eyes speak volumes
and all the thoughts and emotions that wander, at times aimlessly,
through the dimly lit corridors of my spirit self
are written plainly within for those with the ability to translate them
from whatever ancient language is spoken by the soul.
i fear those sensitives, those empaths who are privy
to that which i, by no willing intention, telegraph.
i've a monstrous part of me that sleeps in the deepest recesses
of the den that is my heart,
a snarling, rabid beast,
epic in proportion,
that creeps forward from its iniquitous home
when my baser and more wrathful passions burn brightest,
and it is no small task to keep caged within me
this vengeful incarnation, this worshiper of malevolence.
at day's end, i lay upon the lonely stretch of my bed
sweat soaked, heaving, teeth clenched against the banshee like screams
that fill my chords to the brim,
and my eyes, o curtain less panes of tempered glass that they are,
are shut,
i dare not risk that by some mischance
a sensitive might look upon them.
no, to peer into my eyes,
in the nighttime hours when the struggle within me is at its fiercest,
is to lose that which has perpetuated humanity,
faith would be lost to the sensitive,
for no reader of the nature of man,
could hold onto hope once the malignant spawn that festers inside of me
was revealed to them,
and they would fall un-hesitantly into the bleak waters
of the river despair.
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18:17
»
Words Much Like Poetry
i think on intimates,
friends who are well remembered in study,
and wistful longings begin to nag at my spirit,
they displace the usual lines etched upon my face,
amounting it to a solemn landscape of woe
for the solitude we wear close to our hearts,
solitude that much resembles
cavaliers chain mail and suit of armor
in the way it weighs upon the form
and sinks us deep into the quagmire loneliness.
i think on the way my intimates and i,
on those ever rarer occasions of desperation
for that which is much needed but singularly found,
stretch out to one another
arms that tremble from the exhaustion
of carrying our individual hindrances
and touch fingers, in reconciling manner,
across the erstwhile distance of our parallel lives.
i think on the events that shaped us
and that which drives us even now,
the seeds of our aspirations which we have sown
and seek to make fruitful,
tending them in the way of gardeners as they begin to grow,
nurturing them as they begin to bloom.
in each tender bud,
i see the prospective for greatness
that lies with the realization of our goals
and i weep for the endless universe of possibilities
that was secured us
by those willing to trade blessed life for equality and freedom.
now, we can be as the empires and the conquerors,
the poets and the playwrights,
the sculptors and the painters,
the inventors and the explorers,
we can be as ill-forgotten as they,
a mighty root in our tree of known kindred
and not merely a withering branch.
but i wonder still if i have the right of it,
or if perhaps i seek nothing more than a method of explaining away
my demented longing for the immortality which comes of great feats
and lasts us through the ages,
kept alive by those descended of us,
by those who speak of us until time immemorial.
Dedicated firstly to my cousin and secondly to all those who have taken hold of places in my heart and refuse to let go.
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15:36
»
Words Much Like Poetry
ponderings of a virulent nature
flit with the delicacy of butterfly wings
through that which is the seat of my thoughts.
this exasperation is aimed at none other than myself.
because, once again, i have allowed myself to come in for a share
of a rapacious interlude, which has left me somewhat sated,
and disrupted for a spell
the perpetual season of my anger.
and, with the conclusion of our rarely practiced distraction,
there is now, within you, a sense of righteous dominance,
an assumption that i have yielded to your brand of careless love
and that guilt has no residence in the streets of your conscience.
but guilt ought have a comfortable shelter,
an extravagant domicile even,
in the vicinity of your soul,
for the era of my pique,
a frigid, unending winter of calculable years,
was begun by the first strike you laid,
in smarting fashion,
upon the softly rounded curve of my cheek.
o curse the inanity of my sense of judgement,
curse my misguided faith in the bonding of the human form,
i knew, i knew!
at the commencement of the affair,
i knew that there was to you a savageness,
your temper flashes made of your eyes
a moisture bereft plain
whereupon a wildfire spreads and blazes intensely.
but i thought, too, that you were civil enough
to reign in your violent tendencies,
thought that within you there was to be found
a measure of esteem for those who are fairer,
those who are often weaker in the sense of the physical.
i reasoned that since woman, as i, gave birth to you,
endured for you the terrible onslaught of labor,
reasoned that since woman, as i, tended you to her breast,
wasted herself to sustain you...
a tear coasts a salty path down my originally insulted,
and continually offended, cheek.
i pull closer about me the sackcloth and ashes
my sheets and bedspread have become,
they mourn with me the extent of my naivete,
for though the glacial fury has descended
and restarted whatever timepiece that tracks
the course of my enduring ire,
i tell myself that the hour of lamentation is done,
three a.m. has become four, time to sleep.
the babes will wake and they will need me,
or whatever pathetic creature it is that wakes,
angry and drawn, from the nightly lament
to a woeful existence
that is more than in her power to change.
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15:12
»
Words Much Like Poetry
this courtship of ours is tenuous
a frail reassertion, at best,
of my capability to feel emotions
i've long thought of as a realm from which i'd been exiled,
and time and distance,
ocean and earth,
the passage of a multitude of years,
and the ever widening yawn of wisdom,
drawn from growth and experience,
are not things we can effortlessly overcome,
all have a way of making hard of heart
even the most genuine of optimists.
mother earth, as obstacle,
raises mountain and rolling hill,
sister ocean, with bluest smile,
beckons one to sink to her deep,
mistress time, unalterable course plotted,
makes of us misanthropes, whose ill intents
are borne toward the roseate,
so done by the dawning of realization within us
of her resolution to never return us to what was,
the dawning that never shall we return to simpler days,
also, that withered woman wisdom,
who gains us patiently her teachings,
reminds us with merciless fondness,
that one can no more dwell in ignorance
of the ways of mortal mankind,
ignorant of our inconstancy and faithlessness,
than one can dwell in endless night,
for withered woman wisdom is as the lustrous sun
in the way she brings to us the light of truth
and in so doing, nourishes our souls.
so tempt not fate, sweetness mine,
for she, too, needs be overcome,
and fate, unlike time, is irresolute,
she does not stand firm, as most folk believe,
upon the widely held theory predestination.
no, sweetness, i implore you,
do not cast carelessly aside
this most improbable of chances we have been given
to at last rid ourselves of that malaise of the spirit
known well as heartache.
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18:36
»
Words Much Like Poetry
i cannot remember when last
i was as that which is capricious
and plays upon life's gentle wind,
far too long have i been weighted down
by that which seems my constant and faithful companion.
misery, how good you have been to me,
never have you failed me,
never have you abandoned me.
even during moments
which should stand radiant in my mind,
you were there.
the day i wed,
whispered you to me lovingly
of the woes love would bring.
the birth of son,
the birth of daughter,
through those moments of glorious pain
and exhausting relief,
whispered you to me,
hand stroking with soft pulls
my sweat soaked hair,
of the hardships that i would face,
poverty stricken as i was.
misery, o misery
how you cherish me.
so well have you kept your heavy shadow
cast upon me,
offering me your malcontent,
nurturing my ever present fears
for future unknown.
and misery, sweet misery,
how i cherish you as much as you cherish me.
embraced you wholeheartedly have i,
allowed you to make of me
the desolate creature that i am,
permitted you to lay waste my precious dreams,
listened to you, as in adoring croon
you told me how naught would come of me,
how i needn't even try
for all my efforts
would fall miserably short of success.
o misery, dear misery,
do not dare leave me.
you are all that i know,
without you i would be happy,
and what is happiness but a blissfully ignorant state
where dwell fools and children.
no misery, you are well deserved,
wretched was i in my youth,
frivolous and abundantly shallow,
i called you to me.
and in your answer i found that which i sought,
that which i required,
that which would allow me to accept the shambles
i had made of my life.
in your sad song, o misery,
sweet misery, dear misery,
my misery,
i found apathy,
and it is this gift and only this gift
which devotes me so cruelly to you.
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19:25
»
Words Much Like Poetry
the weather sings a sour note,
a lazy drizzle, true,
but thunder rolls like luminous ire in the distance
and my heart wishes that it would become a downpour,
hard, pelting drops of renewal
that would flood the world and cleanse it.
but that is mere hope.
no storm can possibly wash clean the stained earth,
millennia upon millennia full of bloodshed
have left a lurid smear on its surface.
we are wretched creatures, are we not, we humans,
discontent with what has been blessed us,
always in search of more.
the search begins at birth, the onset of wondrous life,
and ends with death, coda, conclusion of the spanning movement,
while the immortal soul takes a deep breath
and prepares to finish what remains of the composition.
and what stunning release that next, final removal would be,
a relief from the unending conflict we mortal men
seem intent upon.
we conflict with other nations, and find conflict within our own,
we are conflicted with ourselves.
and no longer distinguish the right and the wrong of it,
moral obligation is now nothing more than chore,
one we no longer task ourselves with.
i despise the advancement of my years
and would gladly return to the days of childhood ignorance
where the earth was, to me, a thing of beauty,
fertile soil and graceful mountain,
teal water ocean and azure sky,
and not a thing to be pitied, fin.
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20:06
»
Words Much Like Poetry
the midnight hour has passed
and across miles of earth, who is mother,
and ocean, who is her kindred,
your well modulated voice
asks quietly of me,
"what is it that you long for?"
face burning brightly, a star gone nova,
i want to say, "i long to make of my body a haven,
where you might nestle inside of me
and take your respite."
instead, i utter words of prudent nature.
"forgive me, dear one,
but the complexity of my emotions,
which lurk beneath a seemingly wizened veneer,
became, as days and weeks and years elapsed,
difficult to put sensibly into words.
and, as well, there was the fear that time—
disastrous mistress that she is,
who forges her way ever forward,
shoulders rigid, head aloft,
deaf ear turned to my every desperate plea that she halt—
had grown us too far apart
for even the most ambitious of bridges to span.
and that fear kept feelings mine
from lacking proper definition,
kept them as particles of dust
lambent upon destiny's continually changing breeze."
"oh, sweetness," you return,
"time is no longer, to us, a wretched whore.
now, her headlong flight,
through long, soft hours of night,
and bright, incandescent days,
is a thing to be rejoiced.
knowingly or unknowingly,
she speeds us toward that fervently sought after moment
when you will once more become
solid warmth and tender love.
"and, too, that which you cannot now—
in the turbulence of your cynicism,
where hopes and wishes are concerned—say,
will be enticed to spill honeyed from your lips
by the fine tremors that course along
the limbs i will wrap tightly,
in an unending circuit of strength,
about your needful form."
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19:31
»
Words Much Like Poetry
why must there come always
the sour with the sweets?
nothing good of late has been blessed me
which does not leave behind a bitter aftertaste,
one that settles on the tongue,
clings also to the back of the throat
and nigh chokes me at times with its foulness.
i am not fool enough to believe
that life is as the fairy tales
that sang us to sleep
when we were naught more than children.
happily ever afters that we in turn
pass on to our progeny,
hoping, all the while,
that they remain forever as babes,
never learning the tart flavor of despair,
never knowing how gladly joy is chased by sorrow.
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6:41
»
Words Much Like Poetry
there was once a time,
when i moved through the world
like a sleeper whose mind was filled with constant dreams,
fairy tale lands, happy endings,
and a sun that never set.
then, came the awakening,
like that of ice water upon skin that burns hot with fever,
and my eyes flew open and have since never shut.
the constant dreams came to an end
and, instead of the bright, shining light of my make belief world,
there’s darkness about my soul,
a dark misery caused by love,
or is rather the harsh consequence of love.
o why, dear love,
did this rude awakening have to come about so soon?
o why, dear love, have you gone?
the stench of my misery overwhelms my senses,
and the walls reverberate with the emptiness,
echoing loudly my loneliness.
all that is left is the pain, such pain, such pain!
it floods the chambers of my heart
and constricts my lungs ‘til i can hardly breathe,
and the fear.
i fear i am inept at that thing called love.
and, so fearing, i embrace the dark misery,
the despair;
yet, even as i do so,
i feel hope stirring as time inexorably moves forward
and the promise of new love
brightens the distant horizon.
