#beads
Whenever she loses a child
to the arcades of sickness,
to the basements of dungeons,
recruited for the mills of war,
or to the wilderness of exile,
she picks up the prayer beads of her chronic diseases
adds merely another bead
an olive pit.
silently,
in the quiet of Afrin
she cries for them, another winter.
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 4:08 PM UTC
Surrounded by beads and notions,
she creates with no hesitation.
She is struck, like lighting,
by the fires of creation.
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 6:47 PM UTC
#*Rhythmic drop of beats
Slow
Hollow beads
Into the well of wealth
Cascade
Seeds of eventide
Sow
A slow tempo
Sweet crescendo
Waves and vibes
Shimmer and shine
Echoes
Of vibrant times*#
Jan 12, 2024
Jan 12, 2024 at 9:45 AM UTC
Perfectly presented
In white linen smock
Perfect smile
And perfect floppy hat
Perfectly seen
Prism of beauty
Axis of arc
Staring back at me
Perfectly grounded
Sereen sapphire lens
Moccasin heals
Treading towards me
In 1979 she walked into my life
Perfectly presented
Perfect smile
And a perfect floppy hat
Aug 22, 2022
Aug 22, 2022 at 5:22 PM UTC
trickling down cheeks
the beads of sweat gather on chins
jaw lines glisten
chalk on asphalt
contenders equidistant, soon to be unison
two of them
racing
each reach for the first to get
to the line
a place for few of them
bronze rusts, and silver runs
but nothing like us
off that starting gun
all at a chance
to watch the refs
wave the flags
and decide a winner
go for gold
outside the champion's circle
are shoulders cold
if you don't give it all
you're no pro
you're an amateur
a beginner, 1st in show
May 23, 2021
May 23, 2021 at 2:00 AM UTC
Black rosary beads
Holy prayers uttered to God
Penance for my sins
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 9:02 AM UTC
once they've
established bunts
now there's
fire as
she'd desecrate
the flag
in Orriskanny
whether it
flies round
their loops
that's still
her shape
this world
or bats
in air-conditioning
never heard
of Statius
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
Little beads,
Jaded by time.
Bouncing.
Roll on the floor.
The end is here.
Fire Blooming in lungs,
Burning out what once was,
Creating fertile ground for the new.
Flowers weaving through veins,
Bursting through the heart.
Badum Badum Badum.
Excavating the chest,
Tearing through skin.
You see me there,
Rotting on a cracked floor,
Moss seeping through;
Long forgotten.
A smile on my face,
"Thank you for coming"
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 11:07 PM UTC
Primordial chants
YAH VEH
YAH VEH
YAH VEH
meditating in the soul of the black onyx beads.
Frozen drops of bliss nestling in the sinews,
soaking me in its sublime stillness,
leading me to its philharmonic depth,
yoking me to its cosmic vibes.
I sublimate
to become the chants
that pulsate in the soul
of the black onyx beads...
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 4:22 AM UTC
Sitting on my thrown... A thrown of highly stacked orange chairs, all lined up in rows...
I looked down over the world, I was higher then even the tallest of my youth. I was no show
Simply claiming my kingdom of independence. Sitting up and watching like a lioness in demand
In demand of discernment and wisdom, for she can't afford failing... Visitors came unplanned
Tense...unprepared for this surprise attack, my heart leaped, shock forced my body to jump down...
Down to a lower level where I rightfully belonged... The third chain of a story broke promise, the ending of one of my neck's crowns
I ran, my feet punching the ground, not noticing the trail of scatter beads that followed my every foot step...
Too tiny for anyone to notice...black..and blue.. rolling away to hide.. not knowing these people's love had no depth
The jewel of the story flying away into a corner of a memory filled hall... the chandeliers crystal whispers were heard
Ignoring the callings of my fake name... I ran into the heart of the church... rows of pews starred at me... I didn't speak a word
More beads scattered behind me, as my emotions and feelings scattered along with them.
The silence never felt so dead as I ran towards the back, my soul singing a surrendering hymn.
The two left over neck crowns mourned for their lost friend, as I mourned over the lack of knowledge of the future
Again I heard my fake name... depression devoured my hunger in one swallow, the beginning of a tumor
"I... I just want to do your will... other may ask for love... or comfort... or wisdom... or answers... and that isn't bad..."
"...but all I ask and beg... is to have Your will be done... use me in anyway you see fit... it doesn't matter what I must suffer... I'll forever praise you and be glad..."
"Show me your will and way..." I confirmed... not caring if people saw me as fool of weakness and hopelessness...
I heard two sets of foot steps behind me, my skin on edge, my small cold hearted hands revealing their recklessness
Running out of the back exit, I heard my nick name again, freezing I turned around to see them panting from exhaustion
Two of my fellow followers if you will, took me captive, and reintroduced me to the loud company of people in motion
Only meaning the best, I followed them and lined up with the other Christ fighting soldiers
Hand over our hearts, I didn't feel the comforts of the third crowns jewel... my eyes scattering around the hollow gym... I saw beads roll of my shoulder...
Embarrassed... I back away from the line to wonder off alone... I left without being questioned
The beads on the floor shared with me their fears of being crushed, and loneliness. Telling me to ignore the session
Seeking around my thrown for answers... I found nothing... so off again I ran... plunging my self into the silence
My black rose laced arms cross I looked around for that bottled jewel. To it, I am a giant
More then a charm... more then something that hung around my neck... It was a story... a story that redirected my path...
The tiniest things can have the most incomparable meaning... like one of the five cities of the Philistines where Goliath came from; Gath...
Such a small detail we don't often recognize... But such a butterfly effect can create a rip the space time continuum.
I found my jewel... hiding alone in a corner in that hall that contained many beautiful moments that are anything but a residuum.
Filled with relief, I gently picked it up and hide it tightly in the palm of my hand
A little bottle filled with bird seeds and rock dove feathers, indeed it's vanity, but meanings should be scanned
Walking back to my piers, I couldn't help but to catch some of their eyes lay on me.
I don't blame them, I made a spectacle of my self over wanting to be alone and a charm, but I had to make a plea...
Entering my self into the group, I look towards the shining silver bleachers where my two chained necklace and bottled charm laid...
Silly of my to say... but someday the third chain will be restored... but it will have a new story to proclaim...
I still could see the scattered beads, they surround the people I claimed as my home, I know each face
Yes... My emotions are in a scatter, but at least they are scatter in the same place...
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.
Amber beads unearthed from clay,
Fashioned by my artist love,
Glowing yellow, filled with day,
Captures sunbeams from above.
I still love them.
Some say gods have made these,
To ensnare the light of Sun,
But we women saved these,
In memory & hope of sons,
We keep them.
Fat & smooth as butter,
We turned them in our hands.
The bone beads scraped with madder,
The amber just with sand.
Those of shadowy carnelian
Embedded like a shield,
We treasure as we fear them,
Like wounds on battlefields.
The others soaked with brownish earth,
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.
So, when we are dead, take not from us,
These rounded, golden suns,
But bury them with us, with sword and severed buss,
To revere the slaughtered ones,
Who never returned to us.
Revised November 15, 2016
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 8:55 AM UTC
I have a bracelet
Given to me by a friend
Bought in a foreign country
The beads are wooden
The beads are colorful
The string is woven
Throughout and around
The beads
Like our friendship
The outs
And ins
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
the sweltering muse
ringing like crackling
shimmering hue
of pearls lost
of beaded consciousness
to look me in the eyes
pearl-less and cast
aside under the parent
orb of silver moon,
a violin careening,
weeping like the thrill
of dragon scales,
magnificent and noble
yet isolated in the rubble
harder to find a hand
about the fog and mildew
crumbling pieces of tragic
memories, reminiscence
of all the hours I wait
dwelling without haste
among the lone tree tops
see you on the dark night
with owls swaying in the blue expanse
again, once again
it's going to be tough on me
pearls withstanding beauty
and clarity,
scattered into the clutches
of oblivion
falling asleep in restless dreams
the day they scattered
bring back joy and happiness
when I find the will
to settle my shaking hands
to refine the beaded necklace
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
the words
are beads and gems
and hooks and strings
scattered in a box
somewhere in
the softness behind my breastbone
my palms are up to catch the key
whenever it chooses to land
a pandora poised
to make ornaments
from all she uncovers,
all she unleashes
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
*this day was no different than any other,
as we went through the tunnel onto the highway,
I think back to this mornings homily,
how the deacon spoke of this city's cross on the mountain,
I hung onto the rosary beads around my neck,
as if I was still looking for some answers,
and as ignored the smell of exhaust fumes,
as they mixed with the scent of chain smokers,
like a disastrous duo,
and focused my body outside the car window,
clenching my rosary beads I saw the cross on the mountain,
Holding them up the the window,
my cross covered the one on the mountain like it was its lost child.
for five minutes I felt like I had nothing to ask anyone,
I felt like my life was okay,
we drove into another tunnel,
and took a right on the exit ramp,
I never felt more peace in my life,
then I did as we drove home
that night,*
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
Fay was waiting for me
at the top of Meadow Row
I was on my way home
from school
-I'd walked home
as I’d spent my fare money
on doughnuts that morning-
she looked agitated
her blonde hair
was in two ponytails
her eyes looked red
as if she'd been crying
thought I’d missed your bus
she said
no I walked
I said
what's up?
she took my hand
and we walked down
Meadow Row
walking past
the bomb sites
and the ruins
of other houses
I’ve lost my rosary
she said
I can't find it
what's a rosary?
I asked
a crucifix with beads
I showed you
the other week
O that bead thing
so what's the problem?
can't you buy another?
it was my grandmother's
old one
well buy her another one
I said
I can't she died
last year
well she won't
need it then
will she
I said
she stopped
but Daddy will want
to know why I lost it
and then he'll go off
the deep end
and I know
he'll punish me
and it wasn't my fault
she began to cry
and I didn't know
what to say or do
where do you keep it?
I asked
in my coat pocket
so it's handy
if I want to use it
and it's not there now?
she shook her head
and put her hand
in the pocket
of her coat
is that the coat
you always wear?
she nodded
what about Sundays?
she looked at me
today's Monday
maybe you left it
in your coat you
wear on Sundays
I said
she looked at me
with reddened eyes
of course I forgot
it must be in
my Sunday coat
from yesterday
let's go find out
I said
but what if Daddy's there?
so what?
I said
he doesn't like me
being with you
because you're not
a Catholic
I’ll wait outside
on the balcony
if he is
I said
so we walked up
Meadow row
and crossed over
Rockingham Street
and up the slope
and into the Square
and along to the flats
and up the concrete staircase
to her parent's flat
which was above
where I lived
she knocked and her mother
let her in
and I stood on the balcony
looking into the Square
after 5 minutes or so
she opened the door
smiling and said
it was in my Sunday coat
all the time
and she kissed my cheek
I knew then
I’d not wash
that area of my face
the whole week.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC
I have in my possession
A collection of
Fine feathers and beads
Of pretty colors
So wonderful to see
My collection of
Fine feathers and beads
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
love is like a broken thread
beads of water rolling off
a once beautiful band ruined
ripped to nothing like before
never a chance to hold back
to rewind the past written
carved into every droplet
falling off our cheekbones
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
She's one of those girls
He said
One who wears a lot of beads
Beads that stretch to her elbow
And with one look
The look of guilt
Shame
Knowing
He knew
He knew the look on my face
He knew I was like the girl with beads
Panic washed over his ghostly face
Hurt clouded his eyes
Pulling up my sweater sleeve
He saw nothing
A sigh of relief escaped his lips
But he did not realize
..He lifted the wrong sweater sleeve
s.j.d
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
Writing a poem is like making a necklace,
Bead by bead, pattern on pattern,
Complex or simple, colorful or monochromatic,
The good ones take talent, but chance luck can help.
This one for that friend, that one for this day,
Good words like fancy baubles,
Well placed they make the string,
Wrong placed and they ruin it.
Some come easy, some are long thought out
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
I celebrate this journey in the desert -
I am but a traveler in my time:
in this pasture of my fathers, land,
where stands this miracle of glass
now calling manna down
from the high home of eagles:
I am but a helpless everyman, lost
in the desert, on a journey out
from the clutches of misery, and pain;
The world is making progress.
As I see the oases running farther
away from my sights: on
elevators to the skies, numbers
of the young call on benefactors
across the seas, for a ropeway
across the quagmires: a home, a car
and the family life; saving for a
better day, in the future, while
my home went from mudbrick
to thatched grass, then out on streets
by the gutter with the dogs;
I am a cleaner, cobbler, janitor
in the land where I was the tiller.
Wiping the sweat on my brows
as I loaf on the lawns, awaiting
labour days hyphenated by mealtimes,
there is no witch-doctor now, and
no money to pay up at the hospitals
that the wealthy from afar line up to,
but to die helpless a wretched death,
I celebrate my helplessness!
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 4:17 PM UTC
*At nightfall, in the midst of silence,
The sky turned,
Into a sheet of gray,
And droplets of rain,
Pleasantly came sprinkling down,
Making tranquil musical sounds,
Appearing to entertain.
Landing upon an adorned bed of roses,
In hues of reds, yellows,
Pinks and whites,
Lightly spreading their delicate petals,
As crystalline beads,
Gently dripped onto the ground,
In a soft melody.*
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
1. Reverse psychology.
You are a word weaver, use this power to bind people to what they say.
Tighten the ropes every so often so that they know there is no escape.
2. Knead and mould your patients like playdoh, mixing the colours together to create a condensed grey mass of matter.
3. Make your patients believe that they are crazy.
The more issues they have, the more you get paid.
4. Shove biased thoughts and opinions into their ears as if PUTTING IN EAR PLUGS MAKES THEM HEAR BETTER.
5. Smile and nod when they pour themselves out to you like you actually give a ****
6. Scold them for not telling you their deepest thoughts.
Then, make them your personal mine and take as much gold as you desire.
7. Prescribe pills. All of them.
Your patients will become more beautiful with necklaces made of these colourful beads.
8. Most importantly, make sure none of your patients know each other.
The world need not know that the milk man has schizophrenia and the librarian is bipolar, because everything looks more beautiful when it's glazed and then fired in a kiln.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC