bobby-bielik
American
I am a gardener by passion, a sculpture by degree, an poet by inspiration and a lover of nature and the wonder of life. I write because it is a beautiful expression of a voice within me that exudes its will upon my soul and causes me to come to the empty page and emote the pains and joys of a poetic heart.
I cried on the steps of change, wondering where am I going. So many breathless moments we lose to change. The silver and gold shadows reflecting the sky. The sway of moonlight between the tree branches. The poetry and the book, the skin and the blood of war.
I leave changed knowing it is before me waiting to change me again. Beauty from ashes, fire from stones. Hope is a weary road between us. Like smoke and ice never meeting in the land of fair play. So my dreams are coming and have pass me wanting to dream again. To hope in the stillness of hope that I too will be admired in my live years.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
What remains is only a flow between us
like a transient kiss blown in the wind
a blink, a hint of a smile, I can't do without
As I watch the rouge flush your cheeks
down your neck and back to your heart
You are the shadow in my raindrops
The sparkle in the reflections I see
the warmth in our soft embracing
like the tides running back to sea
you carry all my dreams with you
when my tears fall to the ground
you are there to catch them cleanly
where would my footsteps lead me
where would my hopes wander
wander not now for I have you forever
in these endless empty days I wonder
in the joy that lights upon every kiss
in my waking hours and in my dreams
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
Shall I die to put the breath to sleep
or meet each day unto death I keep
to walk a lonely line that never ends
or profess my love to better friends
to drink the swill that ails all bones
or follow the dog that leads me home
life is a test is it not for better or worse
till death do us part if only you go first
lively games are played and lost in bed
wise to keep awake then lose your head
well to remain friends then beg or borrow
nor tell a lie and forget all by tomorrow
to crawl, to stumble, to walk, to run or leap
to want, to worry, to have, or love too deep
life is a mystery, a conundrum to meet
stay awake for we lose too much to sleep
BB2015
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC
As frail rays are mirrored on rolling light,
time passes
Their timid fingers press against the window,
looking fright
Sunken shadows disappear dropping out of sight,
grouping its last bite
Like songs lingering in the night longing to be held,
I too long……..
BB2015
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
Oh that I would do that which I should but there is a war among the me's
In the thickets of my mind attesting to my skin. Might-ing that I would do.
But within the crystal fears reflecting the worst of me I choose what to do.
The jealousies of life right the storms within the me's, the fire and the light.
Inside the me's insurrection fuse the immortal and the decay I leave behind.
BB2015
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
I am the afternoon
summer rain in the middle of June
time forgot me
water skips off mirrored leaves
and father is working late
I'll be home soon
the baby cries
his kisses taste like whisky
the bed sheets are cold
I'am another year old
but no one came
friends don't know my name
stones skip the pond
tick tock tick tock
time forgot me
Bb2015
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
Who quiets the detonators song
who stills the beast within he wills
the refuting wrong, the ill he feels
a lance pierces longing to wrong
as its victor rides away alone
outer places no one calls home
another victim will rise again
reeling in my pain, until he falls
spilling innocent blood, colder
then the darkness wading in heart
flooding my breath, I'am breathless
as useless as death warmed over
I no longer feel the sun or wind
or a siren bleating in the grasses
she dares me come, die in my arms
for I am soft and wanting your cares
fold your fears into me for I am not
she quiets me, so with it my tears
BB2015
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
no one sees me
standing against the wall
leaning so I won’t fall down out of fear
I am no one to any one
I'am bleeding out
because I haven’t got a hand to hold
mother, brother, sister, friend
emptiness is where I stand now
needing a friend, but a stranger comes along
who is this man, this friend, who comes along
Open my eyes, break my heart against the stones
and free my soul…friend of mine
for death has no hold on me
it’s an awakening into things of bliss
there is where I’ll forget all of this
with my enemy still within me
enemy of my enemy is me
all I want, for someone to see me
BB2015
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
For a song I would love thee, as no one loves
bright as the ever-moon, your face shinning still
voice as a nightingale, singing songs of deliverance
sung low so most won’t hear, but I heard you my love
in the winters frost, I heard you bleed through the snow
like I am hearing you now, with my eyes closed
For I beseech you like no other women has known
like the absence of every meal, I am missing you
finding it harder to feel your touch, don’t let go
I am almost upon you, soon my love we will kiss
and that kiss will close the door of our forgetfulness
of our lost country, our lost dreams, and our lost love
BB2015
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
The assembly of words come stepping in the still vagueness of thinking, “Is there something you want to say“ “Something words need saying?”
At times you wait seeming to ask permission “Shall I come along? Shall I wait here again for you?”
A word slips not sorely but given away, a gift, a challenge, a burden born to itself.
It feels beautiful… waiting. Then it comes another and another like raindrops they begin to flow. Disarranged, compelled, brought to a meaning or question. You resist judgement. You embrace a distant muse rumbling uncomfortable within you
.
Then if you should venture to stray. In an utter silent doom; the likes of being at the bottom of a well overtakes you. Apologetically amusingly as a slight smile words return pleasingly again. The ebb and flow rushing in and out, back again and again in a hurried parlay. Exchanges are made, substituted, let go. Only on paper or by spoken word is the muse emancipated so freely.
So large the mind of it, so softly the sound, as wisps kindly drift into wandering fingers tapping keys in a dance split and crossed over. In hindsight by a little chance you acknowledge grace is blessed whatever you caught in the master mind of transcending lift. You've risen above the fray, above the plain of earth and have fallen deeply in love with the unified thought of mindfulness.
Writing is accelerating, distressing, bashful, and proud, playful and dangerous but always leaves you like a kiss.
BB2015
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC