Mark Upright: Favorites

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

SE Reimer

~

her smile...
’tis the thinnest veil
o'er a razor's edge,
it can ne’er conceal
her bleeding heart;
for it is not
in well lit fables,
in clichéd phrases
or muttered answers trite,
that the flame
of life burns best,
but in the gritty spaces,
between the rocks
and hardened places,
in bruising shades
of blacks and blues,
when it's tongue
of fire
shines brightest;
it is here
the pinpoint light
points deftly to
reveal its sight,
the truth it bares
to spite the stares
from dusk to dawn
slowly, surely,
ever so
devours the night.

~

post script.

*grief, like a wound that needs the air to breathe, the light to heal, if allowed to run a course of its own accord is indeed a gift, it will right the soul; but when it is not permitted, when it is relegated to only the space and time that others choose for their own comfort, it becomes a festering sore, a cancerous mess, eventually an ugly sight. it is with great sadness that i say, our culture does little to help the grieving, asking these to suffer in silence, to hide in the shadows. i am still learning to weep... to grieve well. and, i have faith... knowing that one day mourning will turn to dancing!

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

Bats, Banana, Blue sky

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

K Balachandran

Bats, Banana, Blue sky

Anger, is the steaming red on her face
refusal creates in an instance;
jealousy is foaming green
profusion of colors in motion
takes this dance for them to upward
and downward turns,
or a sudden dissolution---
an intense ****** in unison.
Even in darkness he can see the
spasmodic ebbing waves
sleep is the banana plantation
where night wears translucent green
"nobody would see us here"
she whispers in his ears,
as if they are thieving ***,eyeing
the yellow banana she likes, to play with

Purple is the psychedelic color
smeared on horizon when
dreams repeatedly fly down
like night bats and happen
the way mind designs
we don't want to leave the scene
of the dream even when we know well
that the show for us is now over
we just want to hang around
like the dog, in the place
it got a juicy bone.

Yellow is the banana song
that's heard as wave after wave,
by the blind bat squadron
that roams with raw aggression,
for raids above the plantations
Unripe bananas show green fingers
to say "NO! we aren't ripe"
like coy underage virgins.

Then, they ripen, go yellow
some even bright red, inviting
who is blue here is the sky
and those bats who got
the bananas still raw green

Night decents on the banana land
as the white umbrella of sun
is snatched by the dark maiden.
Black is the bat's wing extending
and folding like lust, umbrella and the like.

He finds her shivering fingers like a serpent,
on the banana trunk slithering down,
as he dreams bats, banana, blue sky
and she slithering over him.

Sensuality connects, colors, assorted things and places that become symbols for experiences , ***, lust ...

#lust #serpent #clandestine #*** #subconscious #banana #umbrella #bluesky #bats

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

JAZZ

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

Olivia Kent

JAZZ

Welcome to la la la land.
Let the music play on.
Saturday's dawned.
Friday's all gone.
Left overs of Friday in the bin.
The lust of last Friday, got under the skin.
Saturday's back, off out to play.
A night of blessed sweet jazz.
Jazz music with friendship, all that pizzazz.
(c) Livvi

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

A Poet's Pleasure

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

Pradip Chattopadhyay

A Poet's Pleasure

in the pleasure of discovering
words rhymes rhythms
i'm a gluttonous poet.

day and night
bite of my growing appetite
makes me sink low

i don't notice
broken pieces
shattered peaces
around me

i breathe in writing
eat and drink
poetry

crazed obsessed stressed
my poetry
like any other debauchery
is an escape ride
someplace to hide

i'm a poet
subservient
to the pleasures of words rhymes rhythms.

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

The kindness of strangers

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

Joel M Frye

The kindness of strangers

A hard lesson learned
by proud, independent man:
For help, one must ask.

Also, to learn that humility and humiliation, while of the same etymology, are not one and the same. Thanks to all who have chipped in to my gofundme account.

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

HOLES

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

Olivia Kent

HOLES

Make do and mend.
Let's play, let's pretend.
Can we get any better?
The grass that we play on becomes so much wetter.
It's raining again.
It's all pouring pain.
Will your eyelids still flutter?
Maybe drip cocoa butter, that's melted.
Or peanut butter may the lumps make you splutter.
Maybe you'll choke on chunks of old peanuts and breath in wood-smoke.
Down in the wild woods, lets go be good.
Let's chase away bears, last seen munching hares.
Hide in the tree roots, write love notes in charcoal.
"Look out honey, can you see that big hole?"
Obviously not, you fell into it.
My cell phone won't work, I have no signal.
Time to do what the Indians do,
Smoke signals lit and now I sit.
You're still stuck in that hole,
Nothing I can do now but take a pew,
On an ancient tree stump I flop.
When will this stop.
Through the trees comes a sneeze, followed by an Indian brave.
He came with a rope, to save you and I.
Guess my smoke signal language was right.
"How" said he with a beaming smile, " you're the first ones I rescued in quite a long while"
"If you go down in the woods today, look out for holes while you're out at play".
Home they all went with a brilliant grin.
I guess my silly story here took you all in.
(c) Livvi

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

book of tears

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

SE Reimer

book of tears

~
in our book of tears you’ll find,
a lifetime of memories now fixed,
a colorful kaleidoscope, pages in time,
loving tributes from those left behind.

so turn each page, oh so gently,
for there are times we cannot bear the pain,
were it not for this hope that we cling to,
knowing we’ll see his face again.

each lament composed in great sorrow,
every poem & writ in deep grief,
pictures our hearts have tenderly framed,
of one we no longer can touch or see.

tear-stained pages, every token,
each unique, full of memory,
though they cannot return our brother and son,
help our hearts to still, to beat quietly.

for though battered we are not broken,
for though bruised we are not torn,
our hearts we know you've not forgotten,
held together our spirits are yours, Lord,
in your grip, our spirits are yours.

~

post script.
this poem was written a couple years ago to be the first page and introduction to our family’s "book of tears," the memories captured and treasured for a brother and son lost.

i give it to you, for we have all lost someone we love...
but especially i dedicate this to T. Maria and to her family, dear friend whose grief knows no bounds, whose tears may never be stopped.
we are battered and bruised anew
in the knowing of your loss.
may you, T. Maria, especially know and experience the last verse of this write! our love and hugs to you!

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

love me not, too closely, please

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

SE Reimer

love me not, too closely, please

(a lamentation for Maria)

~

call me Mara,
no more Maria;
nothing but a hole
where ‘i’ once was,
for life has dealt my heart
a raw and bitter hand.
do not come too close;
weep with me,
but from a distance...
my losses could rub off
for this may be endemic;
a cause any other,
too hard to understand.
i do not know how i will cope,
how i can bear this burden.
just love me not,
too closely, please,
for the thought
of one more loss
is more than i
could bear to see.

my sons were two
and for any more
i would have never asked;
yet they have left
and now my joy,
my future dreams,
my happy hopes,
wind in my sails
has all but now
been dashed.
love...
i thought i knew it,
but now it seems
that all i love
is stripped away from me.
weep with me,
but not too distant...
my losses won’t rub off
this contagious only seems.
just love me not,
too closely, please,
for the thought
of one more loss
is more than i
could bear to see.

call me Mara,
call me bitter,
share my sorrow,
hear my never-ending sobs.
if any hope remains
i pray you hold it close,
hang tightly to your dreams;
my hope is gone,
replaced by sour herbs,
libations poured
have all been changed,
a tinge of myrrh it now contains;
reduced to tears
my song is lost,
except this sad refrain.
weep with me,
hold me tightly...
my heartache won’t rub off
i cannot bear to cry alone.
just love me not,
too closely, please,
for the thought
of one more loss
is more than i
could bear to see.

post script.

some events shake us to the core, even though they may not be our own.

Ruth 1:20 “Don’t call me Naomi,” she told them. “Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mara_(name)

i am grateful to know the rest of Naomi’s story; to know her bitter drink was ultimately mingled with some sweetness; to know that beyond her own lifetime she became a part of the silver thread that led to a nation’s redemption... but i cannot accept, that even for a moment of her remaining life, the hole left by her many losses was ever filled completely. some wounds even time can never really heal; these we only learn to cope with, soothing the pain, finding ways to medicate the suffering they cause.

myrrh. http://www.itmonline.org/arts/myrrh.htm

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

sweet goodbye

Jan 2015 Mark Upright

SE Reimer

sweet goodbye

~

when your final day approached
did we know it when it came?
were we given time enough,
to trace the lines of your face,
before you faded fast as dusk?
will the final words we spoke,
the familiar sounds of your voice,
echo ever in our hearts as the
fading whispers of your sweet goodbye,
becoming etched indelibly,
in the pages of our memory?
yes...
your final day arrived,
but no...
we didn’t know it when it came
no trumpet blew, no drum was beat
no final hug, no goodbye kiss
just empty silence, only this
makes us ponder all we missed

we pray the hint of the forest,
that always lingered on your clothes,
will ever be reminders of your
yearning heart for nature’s wonder
and as we walk among the swaying pines,
beside the waters still you sought
we hope you’ll linger in the sunlight,
in lengthening shadows of the hills,
where you laid your weary head,
as we scramble to the heights you loved,
we’ll listen for your voice of bravery,
in the thunder of the waterfall.
we’ll see the outline of your footsteps,
imprinted always on the carpet,
of the room you’ve left behind,
all of these we’ll look for, reach for
in the home we’ve built for you inside.

~

*post script.

verse 1 looks back, as we must do for instruction on how best to look forward.
verse 2 takes its instruction from the pages of his life,
considers how he lived, his motto, his life creed...
“travel light, enjoy the journey!”
how we must choose to continue, chose to live.

we only wish we had understood his suffering better. the deep losses of others hammers home our own, losses from which we think we are recovering... and then this.

inspired by this note from my beautiful wife several weeks ago:
“I have this daily Bible verse app on my phone, it has not been turned on to notify me for months, but today, march 25- i woke up to this one. Last day i saw my sweet Daniel’s face. :'-( “

Isaiah 26:4 Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.