#disheartened
With the bright sunny lights above
My heart caves into a joyous illusion
Denied by the hearts of desire
Lied to by the minds dismay
With a love derived by a chance of sight
Accepted by the love of radical acceptance
Living as you will
Loving as you please
As it is all for you
Not for me...
Oct 23, 2025
Oct 23, 2025 at 12:07 AM UTC
One day the Queen of Ireland was sitting on her throne
She had her very stylish professional business suit on
She had her hair neatly coiffured
On her lap she had a Chromebook computer
which she was avidly looking at
And strangely, she was crying, yea! she was sobbing to herself
Her Top Aide seen her and immediately rushed over
"Your Majesty, what's the matter ?" he inquired
But she couldn't answer him such was her distress
"Is it the state of the world" he asked, "is it...is it the climate crisis or the... the Brexit (the UK leaving the EU European Union), what!!!"
The Queen looked at him almost pleadingly and then finally she blubbed
"No! It's.... it's Bardo, he's written another poem"
"Bardo! " replied the Aide a little exasperated, "Not him again. You can't be getting upset your Majesty every time he writes a poem"
The Queen went on dreamily "What a beautiful heart but what a tortured soul"
She then looked at her Aide in a strict kind of way and said "It's no good, I've got to meet him, I've got to know him"
Her Aide cautioned against it, he said "Your Majesty shouldn't lower herself to seeking out some obscure poet guy, sure poets are two a penny in this country"
This angered the Queen, she stamped her foot and then said forcefully
"I'm the Queen of this country and he is one of my subjects in My Kingdom
I have a right, I have the authority"
So, so she issued a proclamation/ decree
In every parish in Ireland posters were put up seeking the identity and whereabouts of the poet Bardo.
Suddenly a lot of Bardos started popping up all over the place
Yea, lots of people were coming forward claiming to be Bardo
It was said in one County a strange man wearing a mask and riding a horse, with a sword dangling by his side came forward
He said "Are you looking for Zardo ?"
'No!' he was told "we're looking for Bardo"
"Oh!" he said and went off disappointedly.
The Queen knew these people they couldn't all be Bardo
So she used set them a test
"If you're Bardo", she'd say, "then recite to me a new Bardo poem, yes! A brand new poem"
This invariably would throw them all off
Suddenly they'd start getting nervous and unsure of themselves
"So you... you want a new Bardo poem"
Yes! would reply the Queen, you must have some newer poems or bits of poems
So one of the Bardos would begin rather shakily "Mmmm... Aaah... then they'd start to recite
"The Sweetness that was, it is no more
It's... it's flown out the feckin' door "
The Queen could tell straightaway "You're not Bardo "
Another of the Bardos began "The sadness it never ceases, it's a ceaseless sadness/ It's not a gladness, it's.. it's more of a badness.... your Highness "
Again the Queen passed a speedy judgement "Neither are you Bardo",
The Queen began to despair a bit about the dishonesty of people
She began to feel very gloomy and disheartened
That was until... until one day out of the blue she received a strange letter which was unlike all the other letters
It was from a lady who was a former nurse
She said her and a friend of hers had been Carers for an elderly couple for many years
And they had a son who they still kept in touch with, they'd go out for the occasional meal
Often he'd drink too much and then he'd start talking and would tell them that as a hobby to take him away from the stress of his job
He used write things mostly poems and he'd post them online somewhere
He said he wrote under a pseudonym but he wouldn't tell them what it was
She said that when the Queen issued her decree she went and read some of Bardo's poems
And she thought she could recognise some of the stories her friend told in Bardo's poems. She suspected he might be... yes! Bardo.
The Queen was intrigued by this letter
It gave her new heart...new hope
But how... how could she proceed
Finally she hatched a plan, she thought she'd just visit Bardo's house on the pretext
That they'd received a report that Bardo lived around that area somewhere
She'd just ask him straight out if he knew of him
And see what his reaction was.
So the next day she set off in her big chauffeur driven BMW car
They pulled up to the driveway of a house
The house locked a bit ramshackley, in poor condition
It could have done with a new coat of paint
The tarmac too was very worn
And there were weeds growing in the flowerbeds
Inside the porch sun room it looked a bit rough as well
There were tools strewn around it like someone was working there
She rang the front doorbell
After a few moments a figure in a beanie hat answered the door
The Queen introduced herself and then asked if he knew of a poet named Bardo living in the area, that they'd received a report
The figure looked a bit stunned at first, then he smiled and bowed a short bow as if acknowledging who she was
Then he said "Bardo.... it's not a very original name for a poet, is it, is he any good ? "
"He's a wonderful writer I think", the Queen replied, "his poems they really speak to me, I'm a big fan, I'd love to meet him"
The figure pondered a moment then shook his head in a kind of amateurish theatrical way and said "Mmmm No, I'm sorry I don't... I don't know this... this Bardo"
Then he smiled and said "If I was a poet, an Irish poet writing under a pseudonym
I'd call myself something like... like Spudy Potato"
"Do you write?" asked the Queen
Here the figure stumbled a bit in his answer
He said"No!" and then stammered "Not...not really"
The Queen got a funny feeling about him, his replies and demeanor didn't seem to ring true somehow
So she changed tack, she said they'd been driving all day long and wondered might she possibly have a cup of tea as she was parched, she even said she'd pay for it,
The figure declined her offer to pay, saying instead he'd be greatly honoured to have her as a guest
Although he said he'd have to apologise for the state of his house
"It's a real Man Cave" he said inviting her in, "not much feminine influence here unfortunately".
"You live here all on your own", the Queen asked
He nodded and said a bit wearily, "All on my lonesome" and then smiling added "I have no one to talk to now not since my cat passed away"
(The Queen remembered Bardo's cat poems Tommy Tigers and The Defector)
"You're a cat person", she said
He smiled nodding his head "Cats are funny".
"You don't get lonely living alone ?"
"Oh! " he shrugged, "sure we're all alone in the end anyway" he said enigimatically
(The Queen was reminded of a Bardo poem The Great Alone)
He added again smiling "Didn't Oscar Wilde once say 'Living with yourself is the beginning of a lifelong romance'
When he went off to make the tea the Queen watched after him, she could see an inner room where there was a computer set up like a workstation...
As she waited she took a look around the porch sunroom, she could see some dust upon a table and on the window sills
And she noticed there were holes in the carpet which seemed very old
And also there were some spindly spiders up on the ceiling
She was reminded of the Bardo poem "I'll do anything for you Baby but I won't clean my house".
When he came back with two big mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits
The figure apologized again for the state of the room
He explained he liked to keep it looking a bit rough
As he thought no thief or burglar would be interested in robbing such a poor looking house.
She asked did he work from home
He replied "Ever since the Covid yes! we've had to work from home"
The Queen was reminded of the poem "Working from home".
Suddenly the figure went to say something but seemed to have some difficulty getting the words out
He stammered "Wh..wh...wh" then he stopped and apologised, he said he had a bit of a stammer sometimes
The Queen remembered in the poem 'Working from Home' Bardo had a stammer
He went on "What I wanted to say was why do you like this poet so much ?"
She thought for a moment and then said almost dreamily "It's the things he writes about Loneliness, longing, being empty inside, about his youth and the hope he had when starting out... it's like he's trying to make sense of his life...and he's funny... quirky things like that"
"But why would you be interested in those things, sure you're a Queen, you must have everything, your life must be so full"
"Sometimes it gets so lonely", she replied sadly, "it's like you're living in a bubble, I often wonder what's it all about, I feel so lost and alone sometimes... and so empty inside"
Suddenly the Queen sat up in her chair as if regaining herself
She said, she admitted "You know"I haven't been completely honest with you, calling on you today
It was no accident
We received a report that you wrote poetry and that you post it online in secret
We thought that you might be him... that you might be Bardo
The Queen noticed a marked reticence or reluctance in the Poet
"Oh!", he said
So to assuage the situation she asked "Would you recite to me one of your poems... I'd love to hear one... please"
"Oh!", the Poet replied shyly, "you don't want to hear any of my ramblings"
"Oh yes I would ", she replied enthusiastically, "would you not recite one... one for your Queen"
She fluttered her eyelids, "Please! Pretty please "
The Poet smiled at this and at her enthusiasm
"Well I have one that I never showed to anyone, it's a bitter type of poem, a bitter Blues type of poem, it has some coarse language now
It's about a poet who writes but never seems to get anywhere, he feels he's been left behind... forgotten
It's called... I know you're not supposed to use clichés but this saying sparked/ inspired the poem, it's called "I couldn't even get arrested "
"Read it to me please ", said the Queen expectantly, "I'd love to hear it"
So the Poet rose to his feet and cleared his throat and began...
"I couldn't even get arrested
My soul it sings like a sad violin
Busking on a street where few ever come
From another street I hear loud applause and cheers
They want the young not some old gun like me
I couldn't even get arrested.
They pass me by and they don't bat an eye
Like I'm someone not worth knowing, my story not worth telling
"You think you're something special", they seem to say
"Man you're just wasting your time, you ain't got that Do Re Mi" -
I tried, Lord I tried, ain't no one tried harder than me
But I couldn't even get arrested.
I feel like Vincent Van Gogh must have felt
Pouring my heart out for all to see
Naked I stood there
But no one wanted me
All that time I gave to rhyme and nothing to show for it
Was I just ******* my life away
I couldn't even get arrested.
Browsing down the bookstore
Seems these days everyone's got a book but me
Young girls and boys writing books like their toys
Just for fun so it seems
But me, I couldn't even get arrested.
Is it a Jinx or what
Has someone put a spell on me
Or is it you're just no feckin' good...
I couldn't even get arrested.
So I guess I'll just keep plugging away
Putting it out there and hoping some day
Knowing nothing will ever come of it
I'm battered and broken and too old to care
I couldn't even get arrested".
The Poet stopped and looked over at the Queen a little uncertainly as if seeking her approval
She looked speechless, spellbound even
She rose to her feet and then exclaimed excitedly "Bardo!! It is you!"
She went on "I think... I think I'm in love with you"
"Yea", the Poet said a little dismissively, and gesturing to his room "come and live in relative poverty and obscurity with me"
As she stood there looking at him she was reminded strangely of a story from out of the Bible
The story of the sick lady who was trying to get to Jesus
But was hampered by the crowd
And she thinks "If only I could touch the hem of his garment I know I'd be healed"
She thought as she looked at him "If only I could kiss him I know I'd be made whole"
She edged closer to Bardo
"You've got lovely dark blue eyes"
He replied looking down at her "Y'know you've got the loveliest, the cutest little nose there Queenie"
The Queen was reminded of Bardo's poem 'Little Perky Nose'
Her face moved closer to his, then suddenly she made a sudden lunge forward
She placed her lips on his and kissed him
(She even slipped in a bit of tongue there)
Suddenly there was this blinding flash
Outside, the Queen's big car had turned into this big bank of leaves
Which then collapsed on the ground and blew away in the breeze
Her chauffeur too, he'd turned into this big... this big Badger, he went scurrying off into the undergrowth
The Queen herself too, why she'd been transformed
Now instead of a Business suit, now she wore this lovely dress with lovely flower designs and bright colours on it
And her hair, now it fell naturally in lovely thick long tresses down her back
Her face too, had been transformed, was radiant, she had these lovely rosy cheeks and brilliant shining eyes
The Poet looking at her, strangely he could only speak to her in the Irish (as Gaelige... pronounced 'ass gale-le-ga')
"Ta tu go h-alainn", he said (translated 'You are beautiful '... pronounced 'Thaw too gut hauling ')
"Ta tu cailin deas" (translated "You're a Lovely Girl"... pronounced 'Thaw too Colleen jass"....)
He took her hand in his, needless to say from that day forth they both lived happily ever after.
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 8:47 AM UTC
Too little too late
Good things come to those who wait
Don’t believe what they say
Have to start all over again
Too little to late
The twitch on my left eye won’t go away
Remembering the good times is hard
When there so little of them to recollate
Too little to late…
© Raffi
Oct 2, 2022
Oct 2, 2022 at 6:56 AM UTC
I
At night, I search for the wrench
I lift it off my nightstand
I lie down on the workbench
the cool weight held in my hand
what I must loosen first is my knee
lull myself to a state of repose
leg is a swollen trunk of a tree
placidity the pain soon outgrows
ache that is green
ache that is ivy,
ache that is wrapping
around me
entirely.
being disarming,
the way that a friend will--
in no way harming,
I pry up one tendril,
My ache and I have just locked eyes
I turn my bolt counter-clockwise
just one half turn.
making way t’ward release,
pain is adjourned
to finally find peace
II
And in the factory,
It seems I was wound too tightly
Deemed satisfactory
Now, I relieve pressure nightly
The bolt pushes in such a way
it leaves the metal bent
Relief is not given away
but instead it is lent
pain that is sharp
pain that goes squish,
pain that is swimming
around me
like fish.
The pain in my head
a pain bright white
Will surely spread
If not done right
My head and I sob, throb, and cry together
And then I finally sever the tether
spin one full revolution,
Though I know it's unwise,
Lets in nightmare pollution
Maybe last night’s reprise
III
At night, I will always search for the reasons
Why is it that bad things happen to good people
I lie down and lament each of the seasons
If it’s about church, I’m skewered on the steeple
Now plaguing me is my dear heart
O! Please don't think me frigid
It’s how to be, if you are smart
Walls that throbbed become rigid
want that is lace
want that is divine,
want that dissipates
completely
in time
Wincing at every twinge
Heart so hollow it awards me pain
Lace is fraying at the fringe
Meteor in my orbital plane
said it flutters and feels flighty
prescribed one spin righty tighty
Then, compact are the loves I hold,
Locked in my heart airtight
No space empty or left cold
I wish you all goodnight
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 5:06 PM UTC
my heart is so tired
I'm losing my voice
and bleeding out
kindness is a target for evil
disheartening doesn't begin to define this ache in my chest
maybe this is how it felt when they drove the nails into Jesus's hands
the only things that keep me breathing
are full of toxins
unfortunately, there are no warning signs of toxins that provide the fix I seek.
my manifesto is to mean what I say
do what I promise
more importantly it is to love.
I've learned that love is the ultimate sacrifice.
this world needs those of us who feel deeply and communicate effectively.
a "friend" doesn't cut ties over something petty
a lover doesn't leave you because something is alleged to be true.
as a feeler, this will make sense to you.
if you are not comprehending this or not feeling a tug in your chest, go home, lay down and think about times in your life when you felt overlooked. really go back to that moment and feel it.
when you feel it, now know that other person is feeling that because of your actions.
love & art 1991,
henk holveck
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC
The water edge draws me,
Calls me.
It has many times before,
Until I was pulled away.
The ocean stares back at me with deep blue eyes,
And speaks in soft careless whispers.
The waves lap at my ankles, Kissing my feet.
The sensation is overwhelming,
The freezing cold water calming.
The water entwines it's fingers in mine,
Taking me further from where I could stand.
Every touch is gentle.
Every cell of mine begs for more.
I'm dislocated
I'm alone
So far out,
My mind is stolen.
No coherent thoughts,
Just the cold breeze tenderly caressing my cheeks.
Then I dive in once,
The feeling of nothing addicting.
And I smile as I drown,
Knowing I'm never coming back
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 4:51 PM UTC
Alone
Silent, Solemn,
Breaking, Blinding, Barren
Wandering, Waning, Wondering, Wishing,
Battered, Broken, Bitter,
Suffocating, Sweltering,
Surrounded
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 2:27 AM UTC
I'm a tiny twig flowing in a River
Its flow, mighty, powerful, turbulent
I make futile attempts to make my own way
But it's the forces of nature that determine my path
Pushing me, Pulling me at its whim
And yet I have this notion of Destiny
Of a greater calling
A belief or rather a hope for finding
the true purpose for my existence
Perhaps a twig would change the flow of a River
And Perhaps the whole story wouldn't sound as absurd as its pitiful summarization
Yet, nothing is more true, more tangible,
more persistent, more disheartening
than the fact that
I'm a tiny twig flowing in a River
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 11:51 PM UTC
we are grids and squares
some of us supporting figures
and the wires that make things work
we rely and we take
captivate and motivate
but are still unhappy with what we have
easily disheartened by the chances we get
live up to your expectations.
play your part.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
i hate to make a metaphor out of everything,
but we're celestial bodies orbiting out of control.
each day the sun rises with it's own strength
to clear paths and make visible the roads
that she can't even walk on.
the moon rises every night off of the sun's glow,
and not once does he return the favor;
he takes just enough so that gleaming eyes can adore;
the sun is so bright he doesn't even look at her.
when i was younger i read somewhere that
**if you're going to do something, give it your all,
or don't do it at all.**
and i have religiously lived up to that reading
until i met you.
you attend school just enough so you won't fail - just making it.
you work just enough so you won't get fired -just making it.
and this relationship,
is just making it.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC