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Past...

she assumed the mantle
of the head honcho
yet this position wasn't
in her crescendo

the one who had been
born afore
she flagrantly opted
to ignore*

Present...

a chief's cap
on her crown of authority
she'd always wear it
with an air of superiority

this forewoman's
signature to keep
her elder being
the compliant sheep

Future...

she took a walk
down the lane
of clearer thought
where she realized
that serenity in the family
was sought

off came the crown's
wayward hobbles
on the lane where they'd be
*happier kinfolk cobbles
 Aug 2016 Ar Bazian
Stu Harley
we
are
shipwrecked
and
marooned
on
the
island of doom
and
speechless
the
moon
when
the
birds sing
out of tune
 Aug 2016 Ar Bazian
Sam
Blue
 Aug 2016 Ar Bazian
Sam
A four line poem for my 8th grade teacher
an A for my efforts and a weekly pamphlet feature
'Blue' by Sam a tale of: spilled ink
of an endless ocean; the whole blue kitchen sink

19. 4 stanzas for a professor of mine
a little splotch of blood or maybe red wine
an A for the reference to Bukowski at the end
but I guess he didn't know the bluebird too, was my friend

Blue was it's name, it was almost the same
as the one hanging in my lounge in a frame
this time it talked of the ocean of endlessness
and was penned like the spill it referenced

A mark for my friendless existence
with lark he congratulated my sedulous recklessness
an Aeschylus with a reflective tragic fecklessness
driven to or destined for the precipice

so I hoped when
I hung beside my poem
the professor did know then
not all doors should be opened
A little dark; but it's hard to be criticised over something personal
The bees build in the crevices
Of loosening masonry, and there
The mother birds bring grubs and flies.
My wall is loosening; honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty; somewhere
A man is killed, or a house burned.
Yet no clear fact to be discerned:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

A barricade of stone or of wood;
Some fourteen days of civil war:
Last night they trundled down the road
That dead young soldier in his blood:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The heart's grown brutal from the fare,
More substance in our enmities
Than in our love; O honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.

And then you came with those red mournful lips,
And with you came the whole of the world's tears,
And all the trouble of her laboring ships,
And all the trouble of her myriad years.

And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,
Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
 Aug 2016 Ar Bazian
z
cold
 Aug 2016 Ar Bazian
z
it’s sunny as hell out
but it has that rainy day feeling
I wish it were cold out and I was warm
but it’s hot as hell out
and I’m cold
1607

Within that little Hive
Such Hints of Honey lay
As made Reality a Dream
And Dreams, Reality—
 Aug 2016 Ar Bazian
SE Reimer
~

i remember the day
when first we met;
your face i can see, 
i'll not ever forget.
hearing your cry,
i sang your first song;
i was just learning then
how to hold on.

off to the playground, 
i think you were three;
while crossing the street,
you were clinging to me.
when pushing your swing,
i'd always say,
'i'm right behind you, son,
i'll keep you safe.'

for years we work hard
learning how to hold on,
and then in a moment,
childhood is gone;
no longer their fortress, 
our arms they outgrow;
we find we're not ready, 
when it's time to let go.

we took you to college, 
we set up your room.
had we prepared you?
had we too much assumed?
driving back down the freeway,
hope wrestled with fears;
our struggle to let go,
became a battle with tears.

now at your graveside,
i've come here to weep;
your guardian no longer,
now you're watching me.
though heaven now holds you,
and though hope i yet know,
it makes it no easier,
its still hard to let go.

for years we try hard,
learn just how to hold on,
and then in a moment
this life is gone.
no longer their fortress,
our arms they outgrow,
we don't get to choose when,
it is time to let go.

i still find this painful,
it's so hard to let go.
i will never be ready,
though yes it's time...
time to let go.

~

*post script.

an exchange today with a dear, young mother and family friend about her daughter, growing up far too fast, brought memories of our own child rearing, and of this write from several years ago and originally posted in 2013. its been dusted off, with a bit of a rewrite, but stands, both in sentiment and in structure, relatively unchanged.

these words left in comment to her, i dedicate to each of you young parents... especially you single mothers.  "such is the tension of parenting... hang on too closely and a child shows signs of coddling, let go too fast, too early and a child shows signs of parental absence or neglect. the fact that you are aware of the tension means you are far more likely to avoid either extreme; and don't even think about some utopian parenting idea... there is no perfect parent!!"
 Aug 2016 Ar Bazian
Josh Schrader
Astral counsel hear my prayer
Transmission telepathic
Call out through the leaden vale
Your voice is but myopic

Inherent personal deity
Become my surrogate-conscience
Adopted consanguinity
To satellite responses

Discontented-sum imposed
Indirectly guides me
Though my eyes at times are closed
Congenital third eye sees

Aphantasia; memories unknown
Transfusion of remember
Respect and love, at once, bestowed
Selfish mind surrenders

Disposing character, reserve demise
Share with me my bliss
If ever sight stole from my eyes
11:11 I would miss.
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