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May 11 · 109
the road home
Have you stood
enveloped by
circles of
heavy fog

wondering if
a special skill
could clear this
suffocating smog  

and no attempt
to decipher
the map

You find
a crossroad
replete with
multiple signs

if you dare step
towards the light
a dead-end presents
obscuring the road

treetops sway
join the ruse
each route
adds a load

Then fresh winds
sing dawn's song
like a lover's kiss
unlocking tracks

the cloak of the
hazy horizon
lifts and you
can relax

you see
you're there
and you're like
an anti-******
Apr 18 · 1.2k
hidden crimes
When I was born - mother collapsed
then she got well - never came back

Daddy was gone - most of the time
when he returned - we were attacked

Sister was told: "Feed her or else!
Mix it up right.  Keep your trap shut!"

Daddy got poor - sold me for food
babies were best - earned the best cut

As I grew more - daddy was rich
hooked on the sale - power it brought

I wanted out - pleaded my cause,
he forced me down - never was caught
Feb 2021 · 754
falling leaves
eleanor prince Feb 2021
he walked away
with the sting
of youth
a halo

by those
who know
that the passage
of the years as time
makes its relentless march
is simply because we got up
and retired to bed as he did
every day of every year

and one day daffodils
were covered by falling
leaves with mulled wine
in mourning as frost waits
knowing it will soon succeed
in bringing lasting shadows to
all living breathing creatures
including the man who
saunters on by
eleanor prince Feb 2021
you plan to trap
to take a cut-
a ripening peach
with sugar bait?

you soil yourself
remove all sense
when all you have
you desecrate

her body sees, her body sees

'I'll take it now
she's just the size
to make me big
bend over chick

for she won't see
to mists she'll flee
I'll do a trick
with my joystick'

her inside sees, her inside sees

it's not all past
in spurting spray
a laughing squirt
bull at a gate

to steal a bud
the harshest crime
to rob a child
her life dictate

her body tells, her body tells

for it is seen
and registered
it's catalogued
in Judge's file

the breakage raw
her broken selves
you callous brute
are facing trial

and all can see
as you do now
the lies you told
you *******
Abusers tell one another:
''It's such good luck
she's only 6
for after 8
it's much too late?!"

Of course, it may be a boy, and the abuser may be female. 

Whatever the case, it helps to know their thinking so
we can better protect our kids

Dec 2020 · 464
'Will you be my daddy...'
eleanor prince Dec 2020
'Will you be my daddy?'
the girl in the woman whispered
to yet another lover, acquaintance,
man in the street who looked remotely
like he might just step in the phantom's shoes

...and the ache burned on
the searing, tearing
rags aflame

and cold
as dry ice,
as unsuitable
whiskered men
became barnacled

to a little child's longing
to have a better papa than
the one that arrived to bash
all decency out of the fibre of

a life torn
This poem has welled up in response to one I have just reposted, penned by a deeply impacting, candid write by poet Joe Thompson.   Not all have the privilege of having known a decent human father, one we can be proud to call our own.   Of course, it would be unwise to seek to make any adult have to try to fill those shoes. The responsibility for wellness in adulthood rests with the one now no longer a child in calendar years. The 'adult' self needs to protect the 'child' inside and gently and firmly help them heal so that only safe partners are sought, with a view to experiencing and enjoying healthy relationships.   I would be honoured if you could leave a comment on what thoughts and feelings arise in you as you read my poem.  Thank you so much. (P.S. I appreciate knowing of any typos, however in Australia it is correct to write 'fibre' not 'fiber' and 'honoured' not 'honored')
Dec 2020 · 1.8k
~ is that you ~
eleanor prince Dec 2020
in the wisps of mist
stroking the curves
of a sleeping mountain
I hear a call

husky tones
siphoned off
by a cold wind

I see you still
as a filtered moon
drifts over my lashes

like the scent of you
as we dance
skin to skin
Jul 2020 · 840
burns in cold blood
eleanor prince Jul 2020
ankles held firm
his shoulders lurch

branches loom ahead
I duck in ashen forests

'Do all Uncle says,'
Mother spat again

face is stinging
air's thinning

I'm milk-bag

he yanks
me higher


'Here we are
my sweet!'

the stiff door
creaks slowly

his treacle tone
mocks the dust

dead moths stir
in alarm


I'm flung


in me

I die


they all do it


I disappear to
holes in the wall

they watch in silence
and let me stay on

cold-blooded fire
burns red

do I live

I pray


staring out the
window I see

sifted icing
sugar peaks

my Mountain
smiles strong

sparkling clean
in warming sun

Whoever made it
is my Friend

a gift

for life


it's my

I'm two


#child #innocence #destroyed #alone #mountain #clean #strong
for some, betrayal starts early... and the body remembers... as does the mind
May 2020 · 423
Our Choice
eleanor prince May 2020
a fog of uncertainty
or mist of opportunity

discouragement of the fearful
passion of the pathfinders

boredom of the erudite
opportunity of the ready

despair of the overcome
pride of the calm conqueror

crumbling of the thoughtless
savvy of the thinker

rebellion of restless seas
wisdom of the calmer waters

coarseness of the unmodified rocks
refinement of a rare diamond sage

repeating dirge of the pessimists
excitement of the optimists

shock of the confronted
pragmatism of the realists

dissatisfaction of the takers
fulfillment's flame in the givers

empty shell of the ever selfish
and balm of those who

to the bewildered
smile kindness
In response to Joey's lovely, timely poem: 'Seeing is Believing'

There are many variations in the responses to modern life of those around us, especially to the daily bombardment of the news of 'mass disabling confusion and denial' or the 'barely contained hysteria' observed in reactions of many to an actual or even perceived foe. These altered societal parameters are proving to be a challenge for some, a way to shine for others.  The choice is for us to make, perhaps with a change in outlook for the best outcome, hence I wanted to share the reality and opportunity of our day...
Mar 2020 · 345
alone again
eleanor prince Mar 2020
sweet corral
in savage fields
you were to me
salvaged visions
hushed syllables
relayed in gasps
now stilled

and I sang to  
this favoured space
place all ages stretch
dance to meadow’s song
but havens don’t last
for spent shepherds
seek sleep too

I face myself
as dark clouds
I saw fomenting
omens of looming
deepening chill told
of friendship's succor
earmarked to go

confronted by
naked and scarred
discarded outcasts
dirges of limbs
parts broken
by storms'

you stood
beside me
sturdy strong
then winds ceased
and bland tones

no sunny sky friend
you are but in storms
you see the beaten
traveler's plea
as rains
Sometimes we happen to come by someone we grow to deeply love as a precious friend, however they may well not see things quite that way, as they could be the perennial helper of those battling the stormy night, and when too much of the everyday mundane increases and swamps the scene, they can unexpectedly withdraw, needing space to chill and just be, and you feel such regret, remorse, shame even, that you didn't realize you were becoming a bad smell, a suffocating presence and you need to draw back or lose the contact, connection forever.
Dec 2019 · 464
a life pending
eleanor prince Dec 2019
In solitary spaces
I find parts noise hid
screaming simulacrum
in broken cobwebs

a life pending
in crevices

mantles for
ruptured elements
their soft core exposed

casualties of bloodied past
salvaged fragments
society's furnace

Aug 2019 · 413
street trial
eleanor prince Aug 2019
those eyes are scarred
from damaged winds
on pavement singed

rent scenes recite
a diatribe
how do you live

holes dirtied leak
torn shadows sigh
they shelter filth

you cull the heat
until dice turns
to excise rage

with scalpel sharp
reprieve in sight
a poor man's

At times we see old eyes pass us by, biding their time.  It may be on the street, in a bus or train.
Sometimes we see it in the mirror.  We know we would never do the deed. We seek to rise above injustice, to transform. But the primitive mind wants its moment, if only in mind ©
Aug 2019 · 530
wild call
eleanor prince Aug 2019
babe stirs
safety a wild call
lost to night

blood ties shunned
explosions blurring

diesel spillage

breaking walls
of sleeping

carnivorous plants
insects torn to

by those lost
removed from

passing pause
brisk breeze
grants space

as dawn
organized abuse
of every kind
impacts generations
of innocent
until dawn
of awareness
and one
to break
eleanor prince Jul 2019
I still wear her shawl
hand knitted

not an item
I'd buy in a shop
but it's so Mrs. Saks

lamb soft
under many layers
of crusty chill

she'd have it on
standing all of
five feet tall

hands on her hips
peering sharply
down her steep drive

her wooden hut
buried in rambling thorns
of isolation

I'd ask about her life
in the old country
for her as if yesterday

in broken English
she'd tell of the scenes
that bitter day

I'd make notes
to write that essay
so people see

her checklist
sharp as martensite
toughened steel

of mountain fire
fathers and sons
picked off

mothers' wails
made to look

their babies smashed
screaming in shallow soil
as soldiers laughed

hyenas glibly stealing
a people's jewels
not seeing

the core
lived on
May 2019 · 394
fresh start
eleanor prince May 2019
some seconds
sear and brand
creating Self

no matter drive
to carve new

early stain
rears serpent

heel bruised
sets timer

his demise
rebellion has
a price

for trails mocked
to mountain top
pristine snow

rivers fuelled
brashly strong


straight to
Whatever we have been handed at birth, and the vagaries of childhood and later, we have a choice to pursue a quest to re-create the Self to something better.  References are to the universal battle, reflected to some extent in our daily decisions, as per Gen 3:15 where the representative of Good is 'bruised in the heel,' and the personification of Evil awaits his final end, being 'bruised in the head.'  Only then will 'heaven and earth' unitedly attain its full relief of peace and happiness, along with true and enduring fulfillment.
Apr 2019 · 485
what's it all about
eleanor prince Apr 2019
shaken I take stock
parrots shrieking loud

sunny days drift by
mock assail my space

flowers bloom but brief
blink and they're replaced

trees take fifty years
decimated swift

people killed, displaced
earth protests in pain

stop, opt out, you're lost
left with platitudes

can I drift removed
isolation seek

then again I see
I sound like them now

if I sulk and pout
fail to see my path

rise above and live
carve a vibrant self

ripples echoing
circle all this globe

passage clipped and purged
take a mountain pass  

rein in darkening clouds
grasp some grit this day
Feb 2019 · 509
unchained pain
eleanor prince Feb 2019
pain with no script
subterranean roar
pressing call
pushing through
unkempt wasteland

places we don't see
lest they confront
status quo
hidden from all
but the sharp

as echoes we meet
find the persona
sear like another
stinging coal
on splintered frame

bent from carrying
cast on the
lake of fire's
unceasing scourge
a moment of depression breaking through, before a lighter time arrives... perhaps some may identify with its powerful pull
eleanor prince Feb 2019
so if we
stand still
smell the heat

of an enemy's
bullet through our veins
for once

court outcome
of supplanting views
imbibing another's sweat

casuist's bile
scrawled on prison walls
of savaged confines

they salute
their spiel
with the same

toxic hold
as we concoct
world views

venomous elixir
polymorphous maze
shadow of a sphinx

looms clearer
as steps leading
to torn pages

of feted book
uncover dichotomy
of a self split

so that shooting a child
of shunned genes
amounts to nil

for in but a blink
his uniform
arrives home

to stroke the
golden locks
of his only daughter

playing Chopin
Please see subsequent post 'dynamics of genocide'
penned as a bit of free expression,
more a rant than a poem,
but can provide some
background information to this poem.
I very much appreciate your thoughts and feedback
on either or both posts.
Big thanks...
eleanor prince Feb 2019
let me rant awhile
for what good it may do
to open the valve
if only briefly

for as one wave
after another
of sheer indignity
is reported

survivor guilt
courses through me
yet even this
was not mine to choose

for I don't happen to
have been born
or black -

and that doesn't make me
more -
or less -
worthy of dignity

but I can observe closely
what it is like
to be pilloried
and persecuted

for one's peaceful contacts
and communications
holding personal beliefs
at odds with a regime

and a rage
courses through me
on contemplating
'man's inhumanity to man' -

though written long ago
that the world would be so,
where hatred would replace
kindness, love, empathy

I deplore the way
an ideology
of one disturbed,
possessed person

can lead to millions
donning a uniform,
henceforth labelling
one sector of humankind

'persona non grata'

to be mercilessly pursued
in legitimized genocide,
even savaging
little children

frightened lads
caught on the run
made to hold arms
for food

mamas with babes in arms
forced to watch them
dashed to pieces
then buried alive underground

their infant cries still heard
while their mothers were ***** -
as beleaguered, beautiful Estonia
was brought to it's knees...

and I weep and rant
feel knives in my gut
blood pulsing swift -
then take hold of myself

seek to understand,
if that be possible,
even a smidgen
of such distorted thinking

to delve into the mind
of a hateful deviate
for but a moment
and remain intact

so I scan his written mantra
and come to see that
all deeply held convictions
must have at its core


lest it attract the weak
and easily led,
or those forced into submission
seeking to simply stay alive

and they find themselves
taking part
in a forest fire
of polluted propaganda

a flood of merciless
while their deluded leader
continues to spout forth venom

in the distorted notion
that they would actually
be acting in society's
best interests

or worse still:
'in the name of God'
(Acts 5:39;
Hosea 4:1-3)
This post was initially placed
at the end of my previous poem,
'mandated thuggery,'
but became so lengthy,
that though not my usual,
tightly honed offering,
I felt it may resonate
with some poets here on hp,
hence I gave it space
as a post in its own right.

You may wish to see my previous post
a poem that was based on these thoughts

I deeply appreciate your sharing
what you feel on reading
either or both of these posts
Many thanks
Feb 2019 · 1.2k
eleanor prince Feb 2019
ever standing
body lithe, strong
trained to strike

too dashing for peeling paint
old verandas
slow-paced hamlet

waiting in country town
place to whizz past
road to tourist hub

how does his tale read
did he pay
for assault

struck the frame
holder of *****
spawning breath

cold fury
for scenes of his mother
thrown down

stain his every stance
grabbing mail swiftly
ahead of arrival

panther muscles
no more the crouching lad

her screams
bounce off walls
as mother's body slumps

broken bottle scars
left to clean up the mess
as he leaves for school
forage into
fictional possibility -
with deep respect
for David
of village
post office
Jan 2019 · 1.9k
Primordial Roar
eleanor prince Jan 2019
when scenes
halt in a cell's
frozen scream
slow-motion rage
cloaks grief

do earth's plates
shift at all
respond to pain
torn out of shape
in savage roar


we matter to ourselves
on some days
while he or she
reads the code
to check the tides

oscillate in
crawl space
in island habitat's
darkened cave

we try to breathe
solitary venture
as days run out
leaving dust
and bones

in silence

as a new
when depression's dark dirge speaks... may we find a way to wait for a new dawn
Jan 2019 · 820
Paradise Lost?
eleanor prince Jan 2019
no ripple
on glistening pond
bucolic greenery
greeted sweet mornings
like apple muffins
dusted with

pathways through
rainforest's half-light
hushed cathedral
birdsong rang true
retrieved to senses
a lilting lullaby's melodic

then machinery
of life's happenchance
seared through undergrowth
chainsaw's presence
halted paradise
lacerations on earth's

reverberations hit
tremors appear
reach beyond
borders coddled close
as things find a new
place to roost and
sometimes things change perhaps somewhat unexpectedly -  a relationship experiences a different phase, needs are not being met the way they once were, someone close to us moves far away, a sweet friendship can suffer an unanticipated wound - whatever the loss, there can be regret and it can feel like much of value has been lost, yet at times it can lead to certain insights and more...
Dec 2018 · 624
lips p a u s e . . .
eleanor prince Dec 2018
he begets
of a tremor

steals a
then it's lost

dew on blooms


lips pause

kiss of
warm breeze
on still day

more sought

frenzied tension
slowly rising

smiling dance
cells in naïve
Dec 2018 · 1.9k
u n t i e d ~ ~ ~
eleanor prince Dec 2018
look not beneath
lest night scowl

for history
breaches unbidden

rivulets red streamed
as child song

tendrils grasped
by savage gusts

to rise as scented spring
loosens coverlets

would a tender, respectful approach let love bloom anew
Dec 2018 · 533
A 'merry' lass?
eleanor prince Dec 2018

revelrous without
the alibi
of Christmas

many join in
swiftly slicing shadows
from looming skyscrapers

few see beneath
the ****** of mirth
children sob within

partners in crime
with adult eyes
destined to stare

at arid landscapes
removed from life's
scorpion bite
somewhat inspired by a recent poem by Lydia XIII 'Intentional' - many a bright and breezy stance belies much torment within
Dec 2018 · 3.9k
'Xmas tales
eleanor prince Dec 2018
I see the boy's eyes
he can't grasp
how is this

on balance
tales and
lies do
for the spark of
a yarn's

or are the child's
ties torn
the parent's
solidity broken
his rock
in a world

an uncomfortable reality...
Dec 2018 · 910
eleanor prince Dec 2018
blooms sweet
rains savage
decayed mush

earth's alarm
cycles hard
hands damage

bind thugs
stifle stench
embrace Maker
experimenting with succinct verses... constructive critiques welcome!
Oct 2018 · 949
I see you still
eleanor prince Oct 2018
I see us now
not sounding depth
of oceans found
we sailed on
seeking sun

with osprey wings
we'd soar on high
above the dross
all left

Remember how
we laughed and cried
no day expired
a hug

but waves delete
all fire shared
aboard life's deck
washed memories

I turn the page
old letters worn
once filled with
kisses sweet
now still

in ears stopped up
they speak and roar
for years have
passed and youth
has fled

no passage found
I'm left afloat
my breath is hoarse
I whisper pained:

I see you still
Coming across some old letters and cards these thoughts emerged...
Oct 2018 · 761
One perfect muse?
eleanor prince Oct 2018
Where are you
my one perfect muse
the shape of contours
conjured in dreams
held since bud was formed

Where do you rest
like me for that
of moments


Are you even
embraced in capsule
located in One

Or are you diverse
scattered like seed on
winds unknown
beyond my reach
as I wonder


Is it pointless to conceive
of your fullness
knowing deep down
you exist only in
poetry of disenchanted idealists

Newly formed realists
whose life work
lies smashed
pointless journey
reaching reality

Or will I glimpse you
in passing crowd
ephemeral but
sharply cut out
from all the rest?
(If not 'muse' then boss, friend, partner... )
Oct 2018 · 614
In the night watches
eleanor prince Oct 2018
In the night watches
I avoid you

no point in
tearing flesh

for rivers to
burst through

rudely scorning
torn pages

of some old book
clutched to

dreams not yet smashed
on rocks of adulthood

avoided in the night watches
lest the dark becomes

Sep 2018 · 1.3k
caught out
eleanor prince Sep 2018
it's weird the things that
pester your mind
just when you thought you had
it all sewn up...

you tell yourself you are this
generous and big-hearted person
well maybe
on some days

and then you remember the kid
in fifth grade that rushed up
asked for a five pence loan
was all I had left

but I did it, didn't I
believed her
that she'd pay it back
in the morrow for sure

but she wasn't at school
the next or the next
and I'm still inanely
mad at her

and at myself
as she knew
she was moving
the very next day

and man was I
but you know I
couldn't give tuppence

about the coin -no
'twas the principle
of the matter
wasn't it

she knew she
would never
pay it back
so why lie

I would have given her
way more
had I known it was
her last day
Just an off the cuff poem. Inspiration came from reading a poem just now by Natalie:
where I left this comment:  You are indeed worthy of being called a muse of sorts for my head is rattling around with all kinds of possibilities - but the little ping pong ***** haven't formulated into much in the way of sentences yet - but it is coming - yes, I think something is emerging. Bit longer than I expected so will post it as a poem and give you the credit for the inspiration - lol
Sep 2018 · 11.0k
eleanor prince Sep 2018
(contains references to sensitive issues)

She’s just a babe
he’s only two
of youth refill
they’re broken in

but leave no mark  
so they're unspoiled
for clients booked
it's all arranged

no tracks you'll leave
their brain's not through
not 'til they’re three
so chill out dame

the program works
divert impel
‘'you crazy sh-t
here take this pill’

nobody hears
if told some tales
but they won't talk
their lips are sealed

from dot they’re trained
they’re here for us
don't have to guess
‘you talk, you die!’

so pay the fee
their price is high
and bring this dog
they’ll do it all

and shouldn’t you
take all you're due
you work real hard-
on nectar sup
Stop! Not so quick
for veils can lift
and imprints made
don’t ever die

archival facts
reveal themselves
when day arrives
you’ll face the Judge

and when you breach
a petal new
it injures both
and gear stick shifts

you've soiled life's bed
with squalid stains
now own the Sh-t
says mirror man


             
From time to time an instance comes to light involving well-organized abuse at an almost unimaginable level.  Children from a very young age are trained to provide all manner of ****** services to meet the demands of deviant and sadistic clients.  Contrary to what people may think, this happens not just in so-called 'third-world countries,' but in more prosperous lands too.  

Even where there is significant corroboration for the veracity of such accounts, survivors can suffer the further indignity of not being believed.  There is some movement and improvement in knowledge but more needs to be acknowledged and understood, not only by colleagues and other professionals providing care, but society at large.  

It all makes one ponder what leads a perpetrator to act this way.  Whilst it helps to understand some act out trauma they themselves received, it is unacceptable behaviour, is still a criminal offence - and it hurts others.   We all have choice to decide ahead what we would do if offered an easy way to cross that line.  Decency requires we resolve to remember who we want to be in essence and retain this reality check:  how would I feel if this was my wife, my child?   Refuse to abuse another.  

Some boundaries simply should never be breached, even if one is promised immunity from repercussions, e.g. told 'the child won't remember – it won’t hurt them.'   Many victims do remember and either way, such incursions rob them of a normal life, something many take for granted.  The truth is they are massively, negatively affected on one level or another, often in multiple ways, at whatever age such incursions take place.  

The reality is that transgressing on another's boundaries on any level not only harms the recipient but also those violating others.  It alters and destroys something in the offender, immediately recognizable or not, and by extension the wider community is affected.  

On looking in the mirror an offender may see at best a deluded half-life.  As my poem concludes, who would want to be meeting that inner witness to their corrupt and heartless behaviour, their real character looking back at them through the 'man* in the mirror...'

*(either gender can offend - some women sexually abuse too.  When a perpetrator takes a good look in the mirror of reality, they may well find themselves  confronted with the enormity of what they have done, and who they have become)
Aug 2018 · 6.4k
A Stilted Blindness
eleanor prince Aug 2018
once more
layers of casing
are torn

papers culled
windows gleam
sheets smile

the cost is high
if not see
when to stop

can I find north
after all
I’d asked

so life’s paths
once veiled
in yesterday's grime

to the winds

another vision
refreshing as
spring rain

seeking every fissure
quietly lodged boarders
not paying rent

as another corner
begs mastery

along with
a neater place
it dawns on me

is the order
of things

vacate for a few
short paces
and face

it all again
wrenching me
from the lulling

status quo
of my stilted
sometimes when we ask for greater clarity in life, to be able to 'see' things at a more profound breadth and depth, a cleansing of sorts emerges on every level
Aug 2018 · 630
take command!
eleanor prince Aug 2018
fireball burst

clenched coil
bleeds purple
rabid rage

fists itch
sue for

temple warden
glares strained
calls culled

rampant riot
bristles broken

all exits
blocked tight
stifled screams

fade as winds
of sense
take command
the interplay of internal forces as one grapples with strong emotions like rage
Aug 2018 · 2.6k
take charge
eleanor prince Aug 2018
windmills turn
slicing days
as prescribed

moving water
as they do
set troughs

can't complain
there is no point
cycles set in place

grids buckle
like we're

live chequered lives
without ourselves
on deck

though paths
with every step
trod blind

at close of day
did we not take
that road

for steering wheel
this hand

let's harness Self
remove the screen
and see

in this precinct
or yonder place
we've opted for

we took a route
with outcome
so often it seems easier to remain the victim - we aren't really seeing we are ultimately responsible for what we think and do
Jul 2018 · 10.8k
blind spot
eleanor prince Jul 2018
richly held
hidden in
fractured chest

big people
shifting boxes

a child's fissure
clasping favourite shell

swift salvage
in tight world
rescue from
gaping hole

#family #disruption #moving #treasures #mementos #lost #ignored
For a very young child, moving house can be incredibly bewildering, disruptive, even traumatizing, especially when moving countries tends to mean belongings need to be severely curtailed.  Few remember their own childhood attachments, closely held treasures, even if perceived by harried adults as inconsequential as a bag of broken seashells.  Would a little more listening and empathic explanation with kindness ease things well at such transition times
Jun 2018 · 618
phantom sighting
eleanor prince Jun 2018
I'd see that face that savaged nights
Picasso’s artful effigy scowls
on plate glass windows
high rise grimaces

Is this for real, for he's sailed on
beyond deep seas to places wild
do clouds stoop down to part
stop searching vapid

Or is this his iconic stride
dark overcoat pulled high
winds snatching imprints
left behind in harried
sometimes in a crowd a face is seen that stirs remembering - not always in a good way
Jun 2018 · 1.9k
stir without words
eleanor prince Jun 2018
all monsters and adrenaline now
mad rush to inhale speed
lest life not deliver

yet in bygone days
when dames beguiled
soft curls and porcelain skin

or polished ebony
an ancient fire stirred
in embers aflame

men knew chivalry
their gender sure
dames held a different power

liquid eyes and innocent air
where no words were needed
to touch dreams' *******
Inspired by Christopher Victor Russon's nostalgic poem 'Those Talking Pictures'
May 2018 · 628
what's it all about... ?
eleanor prince May 2018
same sketch
cloned day
sundown station

office workers
signed off

curbed chaos
train clatter
shifting gears
clashing sound

noise assaults
savaged senses
lulls into
stupor's rhythm

cardboard sentinels
stare blind
frames fixed on
blanched orbits

disjointed huddle
inciting life's
scenes from an urban station at rush-hour...
May 2018 · 626
eleanor prince May 2018
waves orchestrate
bruised kisses

dazed moon’s
beclouded stare

teal canopy’s
torn sinew

tidal riposte
homeless debris

shattered fins’
bullied silence

callous world      
spawns grinding

rabid avarice
fuels dueling

winds stir
shifting sands

light eclipses
night’s capricious

noon darkness
steep ransom’s

earth salvaged
true Son
a lonely shore on a tempestuous night had these thoughts come to mind about the state of the world and the high price paid for mankind's redemption - (Matt 20:28 Christ gave his life as a ransom for many; Matt 27:45 darkness at noon for 3 hours as payment for humanity is made)
Apr 2018 · 8.8k
what is a poet
eleanor prince Apr 2018
what is a poet
but a stymied wind
stamping the same soil
seen through polished lens

firing the bugle sound
to reach across some
distant mountain pass
not echo the same

ignite fire
stand strong
find north

for old paths yield
grey packages
more stale

but honed
solidity is found
in structures
built sound

a new song of old notes
rearranged to yield
at times we all need to see what is to be kept and what will be discarded, to reinvent ourselves, our lives, whilst retaining solid ground
Apr 2018 · 639
Wake Up!
eleanor prince Apr 2018
earth’s cougar call
in dead of night

each silenced child’s
forgotten plight

wake up!

recurring beat
as rifle shot

collective pain
in pointless plot

wake up!

for who will hear
take up their plight

through tortured land
for few do right

wake up!
reached a moment of saturation with seeing few good people stand up and be counted on the side of sheer decency - (no one does good - Rom 3:10-17; those ruining will be brought to ruin - Rev 11:18)
Mar 2018 · 521
take heart
eleanor prince Mar 2018
some days suffuse
with dirtied grey
scream through
stain of shrapnel's
gaudy glint

for though each year
may roll on by
like so much dice
cast rashly down
in reckless haste

and tensions build
in East and West
North and South
from Sea to Earth
on worn-out board

we need not fear
for garments tattered
stained and torn
are merely coats
and we are safe

within the folds
of One who cares
in pinions' lift
we can rejoice
remain unbowed

though we dread
a final strike
if breath is taken
on this flight
take heart

for true One knows
does see it all
has limits sure
for what takes place
at curtain call

as mankind's
freed through
hard-paid Gift
a price so steep
his Son bled true

so all who mourn
their stolen days
regale earth's plight
with aching sigh -
might breathe

stand tall with
upturned faces see
time's running out
for Puppeteers
all sordid stench

and soon eternal
peace will come
not just within
but everywhere

take heart
Penned in deepest respect for the greatest gift ever given mankind some 2,000 yrs ago... May we remember what the Living God has given - an opportunity of life to all who wish to avail themselves of it - Col 1:13,14; Ps 103:2
Mar 2018 · 664
- an ill wind -
eleanor prince Mar 2018
where do you hide
when sunshine days smile

perfumed blooms sing life
without tyrant's

let me find cloaked lair
destroy ensconced

lest blossoms sigh sullied
as dirge of darkness
some of you may know depression
Feb 2018 · 483
this thing called 'life'
eleanor prince Feb 2018
this thing
called ‘life’
patchwork of

from robust seed
seared limp
through vagaries of

seeking salience
as globe revolves
even without

days silken smooth
dangle sweet
stolen by capricious

mattering's refused
recycling worn tapes
peanut gallery

judge self as abandoned
in Father’s absence
his character

deaf to lessons
as winter’s early
dusk and darkness

solitary friend’s
suspends in night

song of bloom
pierces snow
Maker's voice is
Jan 2018 · 887
- tales we tell ourselves -
eleanor prince Jan 2018
eye of storm
feels good
inanely safe

cloak of unreality
supplanting sense
as trap shuts

butterfly hovers
in silken web

rests stupidly
while harm beckons

illusions numb

battle weary
instincts spent
on long haul

gusts of
warning winds

as incongruent
unworthy of note

but sword will drop
mayhem eclipse
former state

past suspension

as raw reality
severs dreams

to beguiling
beware the weariness that eclipses knowing... and reason... it will exact a price
Sep 2017 · 1.5k
with veil drawn
eleanor prince Sep 2017
do you think
cloaks of normalcy

societal smiles
wash away reality -

that screens pulled close
pious veils drawn

means all is well -

that children next door
from 'respectable' homes

aren't used like so much spoil
displayed with polish

to the highest bidder -

what tales do you keep
to sleep at night

in perfumed air -

'it's far away
some hapless child

not where I drive
with tinted glass

they're lower class
don't know the Lord

mere runts down town
where father drinks

can't pay their rent
make decent wage

so sell the kid
for sordid nights -

- n - o -
it happens

to tender buds
in wealthy

and poorer shacks
in any

and every age
from dot to

they stay unseen
stare at their

are ***** this night
sob off to

as mother too
walks right on

deaf to the screams
he wants his

so he will take
her brother

'now be a man'
says worm to

he lies to all
most to his

and no one sees
and no one

the silent screams
with veil drawn

they look askance
and walk on
I welcome responses to this poem which is aimed at revealing the culture of silence in 'polite society' - this outpouring of outrage at abuse has been boiling for some time but this poem was sparked off in response to PaganPaul's important and raw poems on this topic
Aug 2017 · 1.1k
~ eternity's moment ~
eleanor prince Aug 2017
pool swirling deep
surface still

glimpsed from afar
caution warned
but you came

aeons spoke true
our hands shook
you held on

time stood still
even breath

seconds stretched

stunned we stood
uncaring for talk

others filled space
with putty chatter
while we stayed locked

silent cerebral synergy
magnetic dance

all thought
numbed in
mindless joy
chance meeting with someone memorable
Aug 2017 · 776
eleanor prince Aug 2017
stunned inertia
stills response
awareness breaks
as blind's ******

tinkling laughter
clashing chimes
lose their charm
discordant rasp

no substance here
an errant wind
furnace blast
frigid stare

lying eyes
steering chance
to suckle dry
life's bequest

bravery's scorned
why should she care
to keep in tune
seek truthfulness

meet honesty's gaze
authentic ways
on route to her
dismay on realizing dearth of similar values in one been engaging with closely
Aug 2017 · 487
tenets of dissent
eleanor prince Aug 2017
where does it lie
that fabled key
to grease all
savaged links
so music flows

when will it come
to challenge
structures old
still strewn about

who can I be
and still find me
as words fail
to still gales
of verbal blows          

why do feuds sear
shrouding sane
in concussed doubt
even a long friendship can at times sustain moments of intensity where strongly held positions clash, and in that suspended space much can be challenged and found confronting, yet yield valuable lessons
Jul 2017 · 558
# The Curse #
eleanor prince Jul 2017
fog thickens

casting doubt
on liquid thought

spread thin
on winds of haste

circling sleeping

- while sun shines
beyond -

nil attainment
stalled on whim

whirls in maelstrom's
captive cold

spawning ill will
fed by guilt

shame's icy tongue

- while sun shines
beyond -

spreading gifts

waiting to be

lest frigid

frustration when day after day lovely winter sun is missed due to inside work, procrastination or general stalling on life's golden opportunities
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