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Ritz Writes Jul 18
Imagine 💭
  
I had a dream where my mother  mustered the courage to own her truth; unabashedly and unapologetically. In that parallel universe, she owned her own identity, and not being defined as someone's wife or daughter. She never fell for anyone where she was obliged to stay, rather she dared to leave. Pursuing her dreams and travels to places she has never been before, chasing sunsets and dreams. Like the Phoenix from the ashes, she rebuilds her life from the scratch.
In another life, I don't wish to be born so that my mother can reap the benefit to live, laugh and love.
~RitzWrites 🥀
. "But behind all your stories is your mother's story, for hers is where yours begins." —Mitch Albom, For One More Day
Anais Vionet May 2023
Prehistoric fingerprints
amazing requiems
the song still in them
med evil number magic
all the time in the world

Healing heartbeats bottled up
prepare ye saving drafts
question the faint of heart
the first and last beat
when poets die

Keeper of morning prayers
a needful message
goodby again
words of love forgive
pure and pretty bouquets

The sifting eye of the poet
the thief of untold heartache
muse-ing Denah’s equation
a more beautiful question

Butterflies and deaths dark divide
seeking the bright light
pointless immolations
the autopsy paid in full
crisp or extinguished.
Will you burn with me now?

For Joel M Frye
For Joel Frye - a poem made from titles of his poems
Alex McQuate Jan 2023
Flickering little flame,
guttering in your final moments,
what was once some great blaze,
now gasping your final breaths.

Lower and lower now,
blinking some kind of morse code into the Aether,
telling those out beyond the dark of your tale,
of your victories and defeats.

Of where you were and what you did,
the sights you saw and the things you heard,
whisper some more now,
little flame.

Tell them of how you started out as this little spark,
brought forth from material energy,
whose trip was a tale all its own,
summoned from the heavens to bear down,
and claim your terrestrial throne.

And oh, what a throne you held,
little flame,
rising up to conquer this world,
beautiful yet terrifying,
horrifying and baroque,
a destructive force that would sweep the board,
and set up the pieces anew.

You smolder out,
little flame,
accompanied by a little whisp of smoke,
a sad but appropriate epitaph,
to mark the end of your reign,
a glowing ember all that remains,
which disappears soon after you.
Unpolished Ink Nov 2020
Oil on the water

Gentle spilling colours

Tumbled greens and inky blues

Fade to yellow and pinky hues

Filling the puddle

A requiem for rainbows
Even rainbows have to die sometime
Psyrïenne Sep 2020
Ï
On the issue
Of mental stability,
I do not
Have mental
Stability
beneath the ground many
thousands of souls lay

they had their lives
taken prematurely

songs of the requiem
play in remembrance

never shall the world forget
the disease's marring scar

that which dimmed a human's
light of existence
tried to clean your grave
again today. i miss you.
i was only three.

he blames you, you know,
for something you said to him
when he was sixteen:

"make her come back home;
don't come back until you do.
go get your mother."

he didn't talk back.
"you didn't do that back then."
1983.

instead, he broke down
thinking you abandoned him
just like that woman.

i know you loved him.
i know you were a good man.
something ****** you up.

whatever it was,
it was speaking through you then,
that unholy ghost.

he never heard me,
just beliefs to argue down
when i was that age.

i absolve you both
though i struggle to do so.
christe eleison.
August 2020
Alex Jul 2020
Fascism sings with sweet lies as
The chorus wails. We sit weeping,
Our history bastardised and
The body of our nation growing cold

Console us not you priests!
We need more than your words
Arindam Barooah Jun 2020
In the thick of happenings,
an air of melancholy surrounds me.
Footsteps echoes of a dear soul,
piercing my deep dark heart,
doleful, withered, haunting.
For now, this is my requiem,
reverence, recollections, thankful
with a wistful smile.
Spirit descends
Taking shape
From
Nirvanic infinitude
And is carnally crystallized
In an incarnadine
Shrine of flesh,
Bone and marrow.

Let the anima of wisdom
Hear the unuttered reverberations
That ripple as a shockwave
Through this
Vast, multidimensional
Cosmos
And utter
The esoteric secrets of existence.

A verisimilitude of life
Loometh in the irides
Of the
Gasconading celestial
And we
Must wax lowly
To
Wax lofty.

Trust that something
Interstellar, intergalactic, macrocosmic, multiversal;
Fatidic, fathoms all
With
Omnibenevolence.
Ye, this
Visage of Creation keeps vigil
In the corporeal pulse of plight.

Fulgurant perdition is for
But an
Ephemeral exhalation, Elysium is for eternity;
(Therefore)
Gaze heavensward
Knowing the Holy Dove
Shall always
Rise and fall.

Promises await:
A deific covenant
Etched in the
Slabs of our hearts,
(I Hear)
The Requiem of Lovelit Life resolved
In the
Key of the Archean.

Spirit rises,
Dismantling form
And intertwines infinitely
All that is, was, and will be;
Circular & cycling
Forevermore
The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love
Sees all.

(Se' lah)
“Just as the Empyrean Aethers art infinite and beyond, so our Fulgent Dreamscape. The Vestibule, The Tabernacle of the Soul, is without height, breadth, width, or depth. 'Tis an immeasurable, incorporeal expanse; 'tis the Fulgurant Vista of  ―the Mind’s Sky.
       Our reveries thither beget the Astral Apotheosis hither. Embrace Eos, the Daughter of the Dawn; sing to the Sovereign of Songbirds whence all that reverberates is the Swansong. Surely Jehovah, who forms his name of the Tetragrammaton, shall efface thine ephemeral woe for eternity. ―Elysium awaits.”


Excelsior Forevermore,


Sanders Maurice Foulke III
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