Before the year ends
there is so much left to
accomplish. Little grains
of salt tossed from shore to shore
Rogue One is my savior
Jin and Cassian are my guides
a bonding brotherhood
a bonding friendship
a budding romance
but ended as the imperial army
blew them to smithereens.
What is to become of the
rebel forces? They end up winning
but it's a long, hard struggle.
The Force is with me.
I am the Force.
I know this now.
All this power like
the Death Star
channeling green toxic energy
that is innocent and good.
Before the year ends
there is an opening
not unlike the blue power shields
that the rebels destroyed.
Fear is my shield
but I have the Force within
and all it takes is some hope
that this next coming year
will be a new bright beginning
full of love and caring
bringing peace and relief and satisfaction and release
to my Brain and my Heart.
Back to rainy poetry on a morning full of possibility.
Back to layers and winter breathing down my neck.
Back to shivers and cold feet in blue flip flops.
Back to the smell of fresh dew on wet grass, gleaming.
Back to scribbling down my feeling. Back to excited heart palpitations.
Back to new romantic relations.
Back to the beginning or maybe it's the end of summer officially past fall's complacency.
Back to hope fluttering like tiny fairies lifting off from my chest.
Their little smiles and pointed ears possessed.
I feel like someone just squeezed me alive!
The rain is now pelting down by my side.
Somehow I was let go from my job.
It's nothing personal I guess I'm a snob.
I feel as though my life is closing to an end.
There's no future here for me, my friend.
As an adult I pay my dues.
With no money in my account I am barren blues.
I kind of like a boy who I don't know very well.
These feelings inside me are making me swell.
Should I go hide or burry my face in the dirt.
Or is this a sign that when life really hurts
and the grey skies pour down
and the heavy clouds unburden
their sorrow there has to be meaning
in these wet tears to swallow.
It's kind of like a bittersweet revelation.
A complete failure or a filigree contemplation.
Somewhere deep inside, I weep.
In silent pity I lay to sleep.
Tender as a fallen leaf floating to the ground. The will of this universe is hidden safe and sound. Floating up in La La Land, a simple phrase is found: Te Amo
If this life wills those words into fruition, and if this body finds not what it has been looking for, but what it needs, well, wouldn't that be worth the struggle?
Can what was once a miserable world of rejection and sadness, disappointments full of callous, negative thoughts and hurtful endings, turn into something fresh and new?
Tender as the heart will let it hear my sighs, these soft moans of personal pleasure are emulating from my brain circuitry, wiring them unknown to me.
Will love try me on for size?
As long as the leaves grow brittle so when they're stepped on they create a sound so loud it cracks and all that's left is a gentle inside wash of feelings
tickling my sensors
speaking to me from the other side.
Calling my name softly
letting go of my pride…
Faded stains of spilled bourbon
dot the weathered nightstand’s surface
like stars speckle a clear midnight sky
Each commemorates a prop of courage
swigged to help forge another day
Bras, slips, heels and flats
pepper the soiled carpet
reflections of the many
nightly transgressions now
impediments which fleck her soul
Her frontal lobe
from her past
forgiven by those who know her
forgotten by others
Rain pelts her window
rat-tat, rat-tats against the panes
compulsively splatters the door
flings open her mind
to let today’s downpour
any trace of her anguish
To search the winter lean and long,
for early signs of coming spring,
on snow sprayed fields now all aglow,
on every little whispered wing,
Tis hardest in this icy air,
alone with frozen thought,
to seek the thaw you asked of me,
when love was freely taught,
In buds of red I wish to hold,
and not my stubborn,
your spring awaits with daffodil,
beneath the wet and melted snow,
I await you dear with frozen breath
eternally I wait for thee
tis I that seek your stubborn glow
your warmth is what will set me free
I take your mind
when spring came easy then
to take us back to times we know
to love your way
back home again
In simple terms a simple love
I beckon from my frozen hill
to bring you back here in the spring
against your needed will
I wait for you
I wait for thee
my Sunny Springtime Daffodil
this is about many things- the willingness to change, the acceptance of waiting, and what it might bring come spring, waiting for love and longing and light, and being patient in the wait...rebirth & a new hopeful sunny year. This poem is everything.. it's hard to explain it made me cry literally. I guess I contacted David for a very good reason! Part of it is this place and the beauty from wherever he comes from and I really truly appreciate David allowing me to have almost creative license with it finishing even though he heard it from the inception. Anyway I hope you are all blessed with beautiful things coming this time in Spring and it brings you close back to home again. I hope you have a wonderful year my poet friends. And I hope you love it as much as we do - many many thanks! ❤❤❤ Cherie and David!
I'm waiting for the sun to rise;
going to cut these worldly ties.
Remembering summer reveries,
The autumn chill, the falling leaves.
Look at how we both have grown;
change for all the time we've blown.
Remembering the winters snow,
the stars above, the ground below.
Lets atone for throwing stones;
we can mend the broken bones.
Remembering that spring revives;
brings new light to cloudy skies.
The Mysidian Bard
I know you
like a black river
from the eyes of time.
Your foggy vision,
a monk with no feet.
I can feel you
but I cannot find.
So sit there then,
sit there and pray.
It's all you have left,
It's all you ever were.
Where do you
want me to be?
What can I give you
that you won't bleed all over?
Only the truth.
Only the past.
My secrets are mine.
Only the wind and the wheel
will ever show you
but you are too busy looking for tomorrow to feel today.
To much vision to see what's now.
I have not moved past you
rather, I have shed you.
Like beer from a bottle.
Making someone happy
at least for now.
the myths of birth and rebirth
are as old as humankind
scratched onto cave walls,
tablets of stone or clay,
scrolls of papyrus or parchment,
for hundreds of years on paper,
and nowadays typed onto backlit screens
that are recycled faster
than old hieroglyphs were understood
in our time
when refugees are tens of millions
on our globe
let us remember that these myths
have celebrated for millenia
not battles, war, or death
but the survival of the human race
the joy we feel when new life has arrived
often against all odds
the hope that emanates from godesses
or mother saints of yore
who symbolize fertility,
have brought forth saviors and new tribes
these are what has propelled us to our current state
and we do well to not forget that our fate
does not depend on people slain
but on how we can save the joy of life
and celebrate all humankind again