Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Nov 2018 Filomena
Bus Poet Stop
~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!


the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs


summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)


but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early


got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
 Nov 2018 Filomena
Bree
I want my love for myself
To overflow
And I want my overflow of love
To seep over onto you
But for now
My cup is empty
And maybe you can sense
That I have nothing to offer you
What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?
Clouds-light ,swift and bright....
played hide and seek with the sun,
One dark roared and wept.
 Nov 2018 Filomena
Helina
Loved
 Nov 2018 Filomena
Helina
It's because of you somebody's day is made
Your one smile could mean more than the Worlds' 7 billion
You're loved and cared for,
Even if you don't see it
Wipe those tears away
I'll always be here
 Nov 2018 Filomena
b
this body
this temple.
was made for everything but itself.
the pilgrim for the rain to come.
a harvest, not for me but
for you.

eat from me or we'll all starve
but sneak me some bread
if ever you have the chance.

//

how could i ever compete with a body.

if this shell of a temple is
all thats here, a good bargain but
definitely not worth
the investment.

i still cant believe i
armed the gun
that shot me dead.
i took a knowing wrong turn
and still
barrelled down the road.
 Nov 2018 Filomena
b
i might leave a greener pasture
for a field of blue roses.
and some time spent
on the coast.

these hands were built
for bricks and
failure. made for
disappointment like a
bowling alley gutter.

dont even get me
started on the rest of it.
i have too much of a
bad thing and we are all
children at play.

i am known to leave
a good thing behind.
but ive never had
a great thing before,
so im not sure
how to feel.

i could start softening
the mortar again,
or just suffer in silence.
Next page