Maids, not to you my mind doth change;
Men I defy, allure, estrange,
Prostrate, make bond or free:
Soft as the stream beneath the plane
To you I sing my love's refrain;                                  
Between us is no thought of pain,
Peril, satiety.

Soon doth a lover's patience tire,
But ye to manifold desire
Can yield response, ye know
When for long, museful days I pine,                          
The presage at my heart divine;
To you I never breathe a sign
Of inward want or woe.

When injuries my spirit bruise,
Allaying virtue ye infuse                                            
With unobtrusive skill:
And if care frets ye come to me
As fresh as nymph from stream or tree,
And with your soft vitality
My weary ***** fill.

Every day I reveal
I give a little more
something special, so real to life
a different side of life
those pieces of me no one can steal
every night I'm where it takes me
to where I find that part of me
that needs no excuses
nothing to change
nothing to add to
But what if it isn't the truth? What if I am a product of fear? When I look at my keyboard, I remember things I cannot say aloud. That is the darkness.
nothing to subtract
the fairy of all things sharp and dangerous.
a day in the sun a light
That casts no shadow,
Pushing through all darkness
To reveal the only truth
a smackeral here,
a smidgen there
i stitch into the weave
as my truth
as i can bare,
leaving me naked
and bereft
but as a milliner of words
so fine
I stitch together a tapestry
of twine
upon a silken bed of shadow
the words, they matter
on the morrow
Twisted threads of golden thought
weaves crimson tears
that taught
the one that orates
as they weave
leaves a pattern
that can't deceive
cleft, my palette
of words, sacred,
alone but not forsaken-
created, awakened and tasted
and i stop for a while
to taste the silence between words
the echoes of my steps
roaming inside a dream
Chinese boxes with corners that
domino like the seals
of envelopes, they
stick to sticky
seals of words,
telling of straw earth.
sinkhole, the word frightened me as a child
even now I tread lightly
allaying the inevitable
i tread lightly, lightly... allaying
the inevitable
babble of...
"lustful gushing
of wordlove
that cascades
from my brain
enervated, regenerated
obligated
to explain
the gears
and cogs
of this
clockwork world
write....again
and again
the never ending
refrain
oh listen to the silence
listen
between the words
from
the death of one breath;
to
the birth of the next

I will bring fire to thee.

Euripides.—’Androm’.

‘Eiros’.

Why do you call me Eiros?

‘Charmion’.

So henceforward will you always be called. You must forget,
too, my earthly name, and speak to me as Charmion.

‘Eiros’.

This is indeed no dream!

‘Charmion’.

Dreams are with us no more;—but of these mysteries
anon. I rejoice to see you looking life-like and rational.
The film of the shadow has already passed from off your
eyes. Be of heart, and fear nothing. Your allotted days of
stupor have expired, and to-morrow I will myself induct you
into the full joys and wonders of your novel existence.

‘Eiros’.

True—I feel no stupor—none at all. The wild
sickness and the terrible darkness have left me, and I hear
no longer that mad, rushing, horrible sound, like the “voice
of many waters.” Yet my senses are bewildered, Charmion,
with the keenness of their perception of the new.

‘Charmion’.

A few days will remove all this;—but I fully
understand you, and feel for you. It is now ten earthly
years since I underwent what you undergo—yet the
remembrance of it hangs by me still. You have now suffered
all of pain, however, which you will suffer in Aidenn.

‘Eiros’.

In Aidenn?

‘Charmion’.

In Aidenn.

‘Eiros’.

O God!—pity me, Charmion!—I am overburthened
with the majesty of all things—of the unknown now
known—of the speculative Future merged in the august
and certain Present.

‘Charmion’.

Grapple not now with such thoughts. To-morrow we will speak
of this. Your mind wavers, and its agitation will find
relief in the exercise of simple memories. Look not around,
nor forward—but back. I am burning with anxiety to
hear the details of that stupendous event which threw you
among us. Tell me of it. Let us converse of familiar things,
in the old familiar language of the world which has so
fearfully perished.

‘Eiros’.

Most fearfully, fearfully!—this is indeed no dream.

‘Charmion’.

Dreams are no more. Was I much mourned, my Eiros?

‘Eiros’.

Mourned, Charmion?—oh, deeply. To that last hour of
all there hung a cloud of intense gloom and devout sorrow
over your household.

‘Charmion’.

And that last hour—speak of it. Remember that, beyond
the naked fact of the catastrophe itself, I know nothing.
When, coming out from among mankind, I passed into Night
through the Grave—at that period, if I remember
aright, the calamity which overwhelmed you was utterly
unanticipated. But, indeed, I knew little of the speculative
philosophy of the day.

‘Eiros’.

The individual calamity was, as you say, entirely
unanticipated; but analogous misfortunes had been long a
subject of discussion with astronomers. I need scarce tell
you, my friend, that, even when you left us, men had agreed
to understand those passages in the most holy writings which
speak of the final destruction of all things by fire as
having reference to the orb of the earth alone, But in
regard to the immediate agency of the ruin, speculation had
been at fault from that epoch in astronomical knowledge in
which the comets were divested of the terrors of flame. The
very moderate density of these bodies had been well
established. They had been observed to pass among the
satellites of Jupiter without bringing about any sensible
alteration either in the masses or in the orbits of these
secondary planets. We had long regarded the wanderers as
vapory creations of inconceivable tenuity, and as altogether
incapable of doing injury to our substantial globe, even in
the event of contact. But contact was not in any degree
dreaded; for the elements of all the comets were accurately
known. That among them we should look for the agency
of the threatened fiery destruction had been for many years
considered an inadmissible idea. But wonders and wild
fancies had been of late days strangely rife among mankind;
and, although it was only with a few of the ignorant that
actual apprehension prevailed, upon the announcement by
astronomers of a new comet, yet this announcement was
generally received with I know not what of agitation and
mistrust.

The elements of the strange orb were immediately calculated,
and it was at once conceded by all observers that its path,
at perihelion would bring it into very close proximity with
the earth. There were two or three astronomers of secondary
note who resolutely maintained that a contact was
inevitable. I cannot very well express to you the effect of
this intelligence upon the people. For a few short days they
would not believe an assertion which their intellect, so
long employed among worldly considerations, could not in any
manner grasp. But the truth of a vitally important fact soon
makes its way into the understanding of even the most
stolid. Finally, all men saw that astronomical knowledge
lies not, and they awaited the comet. Its approach was not
at first seemingly rapid, nor was its appearance of very
unusual character. It was of a dull red, and had little
perceptible train. For seven or eight days we saw no
material increase in its apparent diameter, and but a
partial alteration in its color. Meantime, the ordinary
affairs of men were discarded, and all interest absorbed in
a growing discussion instituted by the philosophic in
respect to the cometary nature. Even the grossly ignorant
aroused their sluggish capacities to such considerations.
The learned now gave their intellect—their
soul—to no such points as the allaying of fear, or to
the sustenance of loved theory. They sought—they
panted for right views. They groaned for perfected
knowledge. Truth arose in the purity of her strength
and exceeding majesty, and the wise bowed down and adored.

That material injury to our globe or to its inhabitants
would result from the apprehended contact was an opinion
which hourly lost ground among the wise; and the wise were
now freely permitted to rule the reason and the fancy of the
crowd. It was demonstrated that the density of the comet’s
nucleus was far less than that of our rarest gas; and
the harmless passage of a similar visitor among the
satellites of Jupiter was a point strongly insisted upon,
and which served greatly to allay terror. Theologists, with
an earnestness fear-enkindled, dwelt upon the biblical
prophecies, and expounded them to the people with a
directness and simplicity of which no previous instance had
been known. That the final destruction of the earth must be
brought about by the agency of fire, was urged with a spirit
that enforced everywhere conviction; and that the comets
were of no fiery nature (as all men now knew) was a truth
which relieved all, in a great measure, from the
apprehension of the great calamity foretold. It is
noticeable that the popular prejudices and ****** errors in
regard to pestilences and wars—errors which were wont
to prevail upon every appearance of a comet—were now
altogether unknown, as if by some sudden convulsive exertion
reason had at once hurled superstition from her throne. The
feeblest intellect had derived vigor from excessive
interest.

What minor evils might arise from the contact were points of
elaborate question. The learned spoke of slight geological
disturbances, of probable alterations in climate, and
consequently in vegetation; of possible magnetic and
electric influences. Many held that no visible or
perceptible effect would in any manner be produced. While
such discussions were going on, their subject gradually
approached, growing larger in apparent diameter, and of a
more brilliant lustre. Mankind grew paler as it came. All
human operations were suspended.

There was an epoch in the course of the general sentiment
when the comet had attained, at length, a size surpassing
that of any previously recorded visitation. The people now,
dismissing any lingering hope that the astronomers were
wrong, experienced all the certainty of evil. The chimerical
aspect of their terror was gone. The hearts of the stoutest
of our race beat violently within their bosoms. A very few
days suffered, however, to merge even such feelings in
sentiments more unendurable. We could no longer apply to the
strange orb any accustomed thoughts. Its
historical attributes had disappeared. It oppressed us
with a hideous novelty of emotion. We saw it not as
an astronomical phenomenon in the heavens, but as an incubus
upon our hearts and a shadow upon our brains. It had taken,
with unconceivable rapidity, the character of a gigantic
mantle of rare flame, extending from horizon to horizon.

Yet a day, and men breathed with greater freedom. It was
clear that we were already within the influence of the
comet; yet we lived. We even felt an unusual elasticity of
frame and vivacity of mind. The exceeding tenuity of the
object of our dread was apparent; for all heavenly objects
were plainly visible through it. Meantime, our vegetation
had perceptibly altered; and we gained faith, from this
predicted circumstance, in the foresight of the wise. A wild
luxuriance of foliage, utterly unknown before, burst out
upon every vegetable thing.

Yet another day—and the evil was not altogether upon
us. It was now evident that its nucleus would first reach
us. A wild change had come over all men; and the first sense
of pain was the wild signal for general lamentation
and horror. The first sense of pain lay in a rigorous
construction of the breast and lungs, and an insufferable
dryness of the skin. It could not be denied that our
atmosphere was radically affected; the conformation of this
atmosphere and the possible modifications to which it might
be subjected, were now the topics of discussion. The result
of investigation sent an electric thrill of the intensest
terror through the universal heart of man.

It had been long known that the air which encircled us was a
compound of oxygen and nitrogen gases, in the proportion of
twenty-one measures of oxygen and seventy-nine of nitrogen
in every one hundred of the atmosphere. Oxygen, which was
the principle of combustion, and the vehicle of heat, was
absolutely necessary to the support of animal life, and was
the most powerful and energetic agent in nature. Nitrogen,
on the contrary, was incapable of supporting either animal
life or flame. An unnatural excess of oxygen would result,
it had been ascertained, in just such an elevation of the
animal spirits as we had latterly experienced. It was the
pursuit, the extension of the idea, which had engendered
awe. What would be the result of a total extraction of
the nitrogen? A combustion irresistible, all-devouring,
omni-prevalent, immediate;—the entire fulfilment, in
all their minute and terrible details, of the fiery and
horror-inspiring denunciations of the prophecies of the Holy
Book.

Why need I paint, Charmion, the now disenchained frenzy of
mankind? That tenuity in the comet which had previously
inspired us with hope, was now the source of the bitterness
of despair. In its impalpable gaseous character we clearly
perceived the consummation of Fate. Meantime a day again
passed—bearing away with it the last shadow of Hope.
We gasped in the rapid modification of the air. The red
blood bounded tumultuously through its strict channels. A
furious delirium possessed all men; and with arms rigidly
outstretched towards the threatening heavens, they trembled
and shrieked aloud. But the nucleus of the destroyer was now
upon us;—even here in Aidenn I shudder while I speak.
Let me be brief—brief as the ruin that overwhelmed.
For a moment there was a wild lurid light alone, visiting
and penetrating all things. Then—let us bow down,
Charmion, before the excessive majesty of the great
God!—then, there came a shouting and pervading sound,
as if from the mouth itself of HIM; while the whole
incumbent mass of ether in which we existed, burst at once
into a species of intense flame, for whose surpassing
brilliancy and all-fervid heat even the angels in the high
Heaven of pure knowledge have no name. Thus ended all.

I want to thank all who contributed, viewed, commented, shared.

Community poem

Every day I reveal
I give a little more
something special, so real to life
a different side of life
those pieces of me no one can steal
every night I'm where it takes me
to where I find that part of me
that needs no excuses
nothing to change
nothing to add to
But what if it isn't the truth? What if I am a product of fear? When I look at my keyboard, I remember things I cannot say aloud. That is the darkness.
nothing to subtract
the fairy of all things sharp and dangerous.
a day in the sun a light
That casts no shadow,
Pushing through all darkness
To reveal the only truth
a smackeral here,
a smidgen there
i stitch into the weave
as my truth
as i can bare,
leaving me naked
and bereft
but as a milliner of words
so fine
I stitch together a tapestry
of twine
upon a silken bed of shadow
the words, they matter
on the morrow
Twisted threads of golden thought
weaves crimson tears
that taught
the one that orates
as they weave
leaves a pattern
that can't deceive
cleft, my palette
of words, sacred,
alone but not forsaken-
created, awakened and tasted
and i stop for a while
to taste the silence between words
the echoes of my steps
roaming inside a dream
Chinese boxes with corners that
domino like the seals
of envelopes, they
stick to sticky
seals of words,
telling of straw earth.
sinkhole, the word frightened me as a child
even now I tread lightly
allaying the inevitable
i tread lightly, lightly... allaying
the inevitable
babble of...
"lustful gushing
of wordlove
that cascades
from my brain
enervated, regenerated
obligated
to explain
the gears
and cogs
of this
clockwork world
write....again
and again
the never ending
refrain
oh listen to the silence
listen
between the words
from
the death of one breath;
to
the birth of the next

I wish to make a poem  of community involvement. I have started it with the first four words. It is an experiment to see what may be created by many minds, many contributions. To add to this poem, place your words you wish to add in Quotations  in a comment . All contributions will be added in sequence. All will be added, nothing deleted. Help if you can. Let us see what many might create.

10/12/2014
Now I wish to acknowledge all who contributed in order:

I wish to acknowledge all the authors who contributed to Community poem. In order of contribution:

Ana Sophia
Venusoul 7
Vicki Bashor
wolf spirit aka quinfinn
Aussi Air
robert martin
Cheryl love
aivustianumus
Tryst
lizany
betterdays
Helen
r
irinia
Courtne­y Pruitt
patty m
betterdays
robert martin
Derick Smith

Sitting here, thinking about death, about which death to choose, about which passing of time to write about. I am sweating, like, hold your breath or die sweat. It is hot here, but it isn't the temperature that is making my glands leak, it is the memories, it is the death grip that takes my heart when i remember, when i write about life leaving, silence stealing from the night.

Heroine. She's a tuff-tender ***** with soft sleepy skin, the daughter of Morpheus, who takes your breath and holds it inside you. Somniferous, She likes to sit alongside you while you die, she holds your hand and whispers in your ear, allaying fear and slowly she wraps her fingers around your lungs. So tired, of this world, of this life; you think, i'll just close my eyes, nothing new about being on the nod, nothing strange about this tiredness that follows a quick projectile puke in the gutter.
Let sleeping dogs lie.

Writing about Overdosing. It is a strange thing, a quick story, one minute your blinking, nodding, often murmuring, then asleep.

Lucky the dog who runs in a pack.
Lucky the man who walks with strangers by his side.
I don't remember much of what happened before i closed my eyes.

A shot, pin ***** relief, then, quickly/slowly/gone. It is night out, with a dark and steady sky, I am watching the stars through slitted eyes and loving my life, loving my wife; ******, how she makes my heart sing. I am glad to be far from withdrawing, i am happy to be in sin with my lovers, stainless steel turemo picks.
It is my first blast for the night and apparently my last.
There is no warning, no red flag that appears in my minds eye. Just silence and a world fading away. A heartbeat disappearing. Short shallow breath and a small niggling concern that soon will come the time when i am not high then...

I am going. I am gone. I have died.

The strangest thing about dying is not dying. The hardest thing about it all is waking up and realising you were finally gone, you were finally done with the rigmorale, the procedure, of living, of life. You had reached the ultimate goodbye. And now you are back. Still high but not high enough to be faced with the living. Narcan gives your lungs back, it breathes back into you what She stole away. Wanting more then ever to ***** but not wanting to puke on the paramedics lap. Fear of police and reprisal, anxiety soars high on the agenda of the recently revived. A trip the hospital, a free ride, then signing out early, i have shots to blast, a past to wipe out, a life to live or die trying.

I'm sitting in my hospital bed
Mid shock and pain and tears
My husband sits beside me
allaying all my fears

They took my glands
and then my breast
I dont even really care
The sadness that I feel is for....
my husbands love affair

The phone bill showed a number
I didn't recognize
A little bit of delving
exposing all the lies
I wrenched my hands and tore my hair
weak from sickness and despair


She was very lovely,
much prettier than me
Although I tried,
I knew that I
could never ever be
as pretty or as clever
as the very lovely she

I sat at home alone at night
and willed the pain to leave
It just grew worse with every time
he left me to deceive
My bleeding heart refused to heal
It seeped to every cell
My life while I was being deceived
became a living hell

I couldn't eat, I couldn't think
I lay awake all night
Then I cursed the both of them
out loud with all my might
The pain was all encompassed
The fever wet my bed
He checked the room
when he came home
to see if I was dead

Ive kept this secret all this time
pretended not to know
trying to let it all sink in
frightened to let go

I haven't got the strength to live
or the will to fight
I know my time is running out
Perhaps Ill go tonight
Im all alone my body shakes
I cant keep in the heat
The only promise I can make
my revenge will taste so sweet


I hover high above the bed
confused at what I see
a broken body all alone
That quite resembles me
Ah! here he comes all dressed in black
relief  upon his brow
"I'm glad shes gone to a better place"
"her suffering over now"


"Lying hypocritical *******"
I scream but no one hears
They huddle round to comfort him
he sheds his crocodile tears
Keeping up appearance
well Ill soon see to that
"Ill haunt your life of misery
you cheating lying rat"

She stands by him at my grave side
As I hover over head
Where everything becomes so clear
Amid the prayers being said


For all the pain you gave me
I say you will be cursed
I push with all my ethereal might
In my grave she lands head first
You took my bed
why not my grave?
for as you took
so too I gave!

I laughed out loud ,an angry laugh
looked towards the watery sun
Not ready to depart just yet
My revenge has just begun

P-Pacifying storms with a soothing balm
E-Ever subduing the tempest's hod of harm
A-Allaying our minds of the raging alarm
C-Ceasing thunderous sounds with a palm
E-Earth dwellers seek a road to tranquil calm

Apologies in advance. I wanted to share them all x
---------------------------------------------------------------­----------

For the fallen

The world is such a tormented place,
Haunted by the insecurities of every race.
Obsessed with greed and absolute power,
The dictators rained on the weak,
With a gun filled shower.

Brave men were enlisted to bring peace to the land,
To help the weak be strong and to make a stand,
Women and children were left abandoned, alone,
While their men were out fighting protecting our home.

Families shattered by one single blast,
Congregating together in one single mass.
Weeping beside a freshly dug grave,
Lay a widow wishing that he had not been so brave.

We will remember him always for his courage and valour,
By honouring his name in silence upon the eleventh hour.
Rest in peace my friend we are forever in your debt,
We will pray for you all.... lest we forget.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------------

Love in War

Thinking of you my love,
As this horror reigns upon me from above,
Scared, freezing cold and wet,
I think of you, the good times we had,
Which I will never forget,

One by one, my comrades fall, into this stranger of lands,
Where they once stood tall,
Too weak to keep going, no food, no water,
We think of our loved, wives, sons and daughters,

Shells falling, exploding beside,
Blood shed all over, my comrades have died,
I am alone now, with nowhere to turn,
As the carnage of war continues to burn,

I hear the enemy drawing near, shouting aloud,
The trophies off my comrades, have made them so proud,
I have to make a choice, as either way I will die,
As I cook this grenade and blow them sky high!
-----------------------------------------------------------­-----------------

Why my father cried

Sitting by the fire,
He raised a glass,
Whispering words,
Of his secret past,

A solitary tear,
Wiped slowly away,
Hiding the pain,
Of that fateful day,

As a curious child,
I always wondered why,
My heroic father,
Would sit and cry,

Or wake up screaming,
Soaked in his bed,
Telling my mother,
The noise in his head,

As I grew old,
I understood why,
My soldier father,
Would sit and cry,

He lost his family,
Not linked by blood,
He witnessed things,
That no human should,

Affected by the war,
Still to this day,
His post-traumatic stress,
Stuck on replay.

--------------------------------------------------------­-------

The Return

Newsflash on the radio, he saved many lives,
Protecting his brothers, by self-sacrifice,
Dreading the moment, of a knock at my door,
Just hearing those words, pin me to the floor,

My wife drops her cup, is crippled by the dread,
We know what is coming, our heroic Son is dead,
I'm crying deep inside, on the outside I am strong,
Footsteps drawing near, I know it won’t be long.

Flashbacks whirling round, family moments we shared,
Too proud to tell my son, just how much I cared,
I reach for my wife, to hold her in my arms
The doorbell rings, like the morning alarm,

Bringing her close, I tell her it's okay,
Holding each other’s hands, as we start to pray,
I walk to the door, heart beats through my chest,
Opening it slowly, as it comes to rest,

My son stands before me, tears replace tears,
No scratch upon his skin, allaying all my fears,
A reoccurring dream, every single night,
As we await his return, from their heroic fight.

Written for all the families affected by war.

----------------------

Flashback

My husband sits for days on end,
Staring through his empty friend,
My tearful words fall alone,
His mind resides in combat zone,

A man replaced by shell so cold,
Numbed by scars of war untold,
Violent dreams lived each night,
Lashing out, at all in sight,

He returns to war inside his head,
Trauma stained by all bloodshed,
A trigger pulled, his mind released,
Begging for, all thoughts to cease,

His scars remain, but can't be seen,
Buried deep inside his dreams,
Years of therapy, will help him free,
From the damaging effects..
.. of PTSD

I pray for the day, he's finally home,
So the trauma of war, can leave us alone.

----------------------

A Winter's Soldier

A winters night, into the cold,
The Queen's servant, looking old,
Just ten years since Iraq..
Ripped cloth upon his back.

Paper sheets, and plastic bags,
Warming body holding rags ,
His bottle lacking wine..
Drinking passed the time,

Daily grind, passing by,
No one stops, wonders why..
..His lips, are a shade of blue,

Tight fist clutched to chest,
A hero soldier, came to rest,
Upon commuter street..
..look down beneath your feet...

..Yes you!

A winters soldier, died alone,
Buried deep, below the stone,
Tortured by the war..
By the scars nobody saw.

If only you had not ignored,
The dying soldier there before,
Then maybe we could save...
..The wounded and the brave.

New poems added. Hopefully improve them in time :-)

Can you settle for more or less if today was your last day
And what would be your retort if you were denied another chance?
How life introduces sobriety and the impending inevitability
The interstice and it’s ingress that encloses before your eyes
The demanding pouring of importune time
That soothing allaying sighs that evoke incalculable alleviation

If someone were to impart as they closed their eyes
As they died with a commital of happenings with not enough time
As to burden you with the impression of only one chance
It would seem and with the impending inevitability
Of your death which would subito compromise the day
A bearding contrivance plight of obligations engagement and commital no alleviation

An abecedarian dossier concealed for a long time
All this time the inevitable coinciding incident only for your eyes
The emotional habituation was of quotidian rendition each day
Of how trivial things take us on a dance with only one life one chance
With your attention and awareness on the answer the inevitability
Of what you are becoming with each passing second for each
Thought which transpires and no alleviation

Is there an epoch a replicating limn a depiction of our linear time
As we perpetrate and pursue progressively for our alleviation
Engaged to staying the course the day
Stirring closing in on our deliberate objective determined chance
Which remained for a terse duration from the inevitability
In which at the atrium of this erstwhile portage of a duvet to belabor
To stifle firsthand with your eyes

The variant from this domicile from this residence on a day
Is the vagabond to perish in yonder with no alleviation
Once man was a brute dullard or a curmudgeon spinster at a time
Which offers a mute disconnection ragged miscreant the inevi
Naivety or absent  mindedness to somnambulist and its silhouette
Notwithstanding change
The quagmire and it’s nightmare the ingrate delighted with coined
Shunned eyes

Reputation with a flagrant obscene defilement galvanizing
The alleviation
At the heart of this lies another chance
A precocious inevitability
A man who lies to die another day
The annihilation in desperate want for from those argent eyes
To the starving newfangled optimism which in its sheen
Shines sunshine dulling the ocular orbs of time

Forwithal in befuddlement remain here
The time if infringement to comprehend the volatile vertigo
And the inevitability
The harrowing of hell
Glance at the shinning suns in her eyes intention considers change
After you heal and left are the cicatrix
Will you plunge further for alleviation
Or on the intent of regression once again
From long ago to another distant day.

Time’s triumph is heard in the song of a feathered friend
Throughout the echo of a rocky cave
A willing voice celebrating the passing of pain
Resignation to the ending of love
Rejoicing, when love
Can be saved

Within our hearts, time’s triumph sings out in glory
Allaying crimson with a silken mesh of blue
Opening our eyes wide to its story
The strength of our spirit, endures on and on
As time echoes in the words
Of me and you

Lovely is the age when pride is no longer restless
When patience is learned within
One can look straight ahead without being anxious
Enjoy the pleasant fire burning
Within their hearts
Once again

A murmur is heard in the wind of that which is dearly prized
Reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder
Seeing your long journey in the look, you carry in your eyes
Proclaiming, yes, you have lived following your purpose
Yet, you must continue on
As you, grow older

I've solaced by you
I treasure your amour
I know you dote upon me
A blessed feeling!
A wave of bliss is blowing in every nook and cranny


I become soulful
My mind is bubbling over with this romantic comedy


I'm trying to speak
But I'm silent
My eyes are telling you the truth


I'm thrilled with joy by fits and starts
This starlit time is luminescence
May the time stop flying!
The allaying fatigue and mitigating sorrow time
Please, don't fly!


Let's have a candlelit dinner
Let's go for a long drive
Let's have a barbecue
Let's cut a cake and celebrate
My heart desires for festivity


Now,
I'm free from stress and difficulties
I'm smoothly spending time
I never felt so light and buoyant before
The time is laudable

We sat alone in that cottage by the sea --
you crying through your bony shoulders,
me quietly comforting you,
a long way from home.
allaying your headache
with small doses of *****.
i'm trying to fix you, I am,
but the teapot broke last night,
and there's grass growing up
through the cracks in the floor.
you were in the rocking chair when you said
"I've forgotten what your voice sounds like"
and I broke down.
it's so loud, the ocean as it ebbs and flows
I pushed just one wave back
and expected the whole of the seas to
bow down to me.
I'm sorry that we didn't have more time.
I'm sorry that I was too late.
But I'm mostly sorry that I dug myself up
when you needed the roots firmly in place.
the selfishness that I keep close
has too small a space
to sustain life.
I enshrouded you with a heavy blanket,
draped it across those bony shoulders,
but you maintained your gaze
into the distance.
across the water,
into another continent.
I'm sorry this wasn't enough,
but i'll leave the door unlocked.

I want to feel the wind in my hair one last time,
wave my hand in the currents,
recite all the words to all the songs I know.
I want you there by my side
to share the experience,
share the journey,
racing the sun for the horizon
one last time.

I want to tell you all the things I never could,
kiss the breath from your mouth
and touch you in a way I never had the courage to do.
We’d drive forever and a day,
running from nothing,
chasing everything,
all the dreams we had
that we never asked the universe for.

How I wish you were here allaying my fears.
Instead, you’re somewhere just out of reach,
beyond the limits of my eyes,
dancing to a song stuck in your heart.
I must drive without you,
listening to every song but yours,
as that mantra keeps playing in my ears.

Nothing like the open road.
Nothing like the open road.
Nothing like the open road.

Forty acres and a mule is Rueben’s stake,
in sandy-soiled pine-country
by a stream fed lake;
There he plants cotton, corn and ‘taters,
a patch of melons, beans and ‘maters;

Centuries of struggle landed him here
through rough sea-voyages fraught with fear
to endless lost days of pain and tears
brought at the hand of cruel overseers;

Freedom now is the clarion call,
a trumpet resounding
down Congress’ hall;
A chance to prosper in the un-chosen land
and to raise a family by his own sure hand;

With joy and goodness he buries the hate
unloading his burden and buoying his fate
beyond sheltering pines and the wooden gate
of a cozy house he’s built of late;

Children freed from that forbidding plight,
help with chores
and play with delight;
while Mother loosed from unspoken shame,
nourishes them there like warm summer rain;

Plow and plant, then nurture, then reap
skills developed when labor was cheap
are now built-up in freedom grown sweet,
as the tide of change begins its neap;

Wily carpetbaggers with big cash to spend,
use guile and trickery
the rules to bend
twisting men’s minds toward vile obstruction
while ****** the Law of Reconstruction;

Rueben prospers in this miraculous scheme
there in the forest by the fresh water stream
revering each day a freedman’s dream,
then wakes one night to a low, anguished scream;

The scene is horrific outside the front door,
his mind gropes madly
for a safe sandy-shore;
so he shuttles his family to the woods out back
while listening to the sounds of an awful attack;

Horse-mounted specters with torches ablaze
set fire to the barn and trample the maize
then gallop a-whopping as his old dog bays
at a burning cross where the dead mule lays;

They hide in the pines through a dreadful night
allaying kid’s fears
and the old dog’s fright;
Then return to the farm under a red morning sky,
to find the promise a smoldering burnt lie;

Jesus suffered again on that cross, it’s plain,
as sure as if Pilate had taken rein
leading hate-filled men on a satanic campaign
‘neath fear’s hood and white sheets of shame;

Madmen imagine their cause to be just,
leaving innocents moldering,
mangled in the dust;
With swords blood rusted and Bibles in belts,
they shout fiery sermons, as small worlds melt;

A hundred years flash by in slow fury,
history being written with no trial or jury,
It’s the same baleful, sorry old story,
thems doin' the tellin' gets all the glory;

But history sometimes reshuffles the deck,
And deals a new hand
to ruffle the stiff-necks
of modern raiders who race to the fore
to stanch the tide of progress once more;

Blind to their trail of ****** mistakes
and ignoring slimy vipers let loose on the take,
They go scape-goating—thrashing for snakes—
in sandy-soiled pine country, by stream fed lakes.

Daily
Increase
Steady
Solace
Involving
Practice
Allaying
The
Ego

My sky is multi-faceted.
Most days I see a sweet pastel blue washed above me,
faded at the edge,
the edge, that wraps around me
yet
flat above me,
sweetly lays against the horizon,
who, as well as the sky,
changes
as often as the angle of my view.
Her range of emotion is ever expanding; from flat lines of no feeling
To icy sharp daggers of bitterness that puncture upwards
and every variant of feeling in between.
The docile nature
and ceaseless patience of the sky
keeps balance.
I adore
the beauty of their dance through time.
Gratefulness overwhelms me
for I have had the chance to witness their dance,
even for just this moment.

When the sun gracefully glides down the sky
And fades behind the horizon,
leaving breath taking streaks
of bright pink over the
plush white clouds
And hues,
of orange,  
and purple that reach out.
Before I know it, he takes my sweet sky.

I have not moved
yet my allaying sky is now transparent.
Hiding nothing from me.
Showing that he has only been a mixture of gases,
not
a strong yet sweet
patient and loving barrier to the unknown.
At night
in the absence of blinding light and false reflections
I see
that stars
are not stars
in the way I think of them during the day.
Stars
are incandescent bodies
small suns,
big ones too
I could travel to one,
it could be a place; it is a place.
I have thought of stars to simply be specs in the sky,
a small
bright spec
I could carefully capture
and take home.

How small I must be then.
Even if
I
were incandescent, I am too small to see at all.

A deeper emotion seeps in
through the pores of my skin.
An emotion that is a mix of others,
and hard to name.

As time passes
the nights come quicker,
and a feeling more intense than unsettling
lasts longer in me.
I think it has begun to soak into my bones,
it is becoming harder to forget by morning.

These days aren’t most—
the ones where I see through the illusion
of a protective, benevolent, pastel blue haze--  
And I hope they never are—

I’m sorry, I should stop thinking so much…

How fast is it going to feel after that ******* slips at the hilt?

Sharpen your eyes from all the icicles that feel from the sky last winter,

I'm sure you saved them for a rainy day,

They stayed awful sharp in that cooler drooling out dry ice out of corners, out into the air.

I'm sure you feel braves for allaying away each little boil
the burns under your skin

I'm sure if felt great scraping up all the little scabby, ******, barnacles off of your underside on the night you finally decided to die.

Empty shelves. Lack of supplies.
Fighting a virus that's unforgiving.
School closures. Loss of jobs.
A new reality in which we're living.

Hospitals filling. Medical staff
In danger from lack of protective gear.
Stores and industries shutting down.
For how long remains unclear.

Closed borders. Cancelled flights.
Social distancing's a must.
Living in a dystopian novel,
We hear the command: Adjust! Adjust!

Where is our federal leadership?
Scrambling for sure, but this is worth noting:
The president's spreading misinformation
And keeps applying a sugar coating.

We need help! our governors say;
We're limited, but doing what we can.
The president says, "We are not
A supply shop." Compassionate man!

When asked pertinent questions about
Allaying the public's fears or stress,
Our insecure president
Loses control and attacks the press.

For months we knew of the imminent threat,
And yet where was the preparation?
The jaw-dropping inactivity
Of our leadership endangers our nation.

Our ICU surge capacity
Must be increased, experts insist.
And personal protective equipment
Should be at the top of the list.

Unfortunately, the president's
Narcissism gets in his way.
We DON'T need empty promises;
We need action. Now! Today!

We'll get through this eventually.
Because of him? NO! In SPITE of him
Who leads us down the rabbit hole
And governs by a hunch and a whim.

-by Bob B (3-21-20)

I don’t want to hate you
To cringe every moment
In passing you by
And cursing each second glance,
Why even try?
To reply
To be cordial
And humor attempts
To unmake
My acquaintance
If only incensed,
Aggravated,
I break
My precise concentration
Allaying irate
To sate your instigation
For any reaction
Or step I take
Hastens
The pace of which
Mischievous
Cretins
Persist
In a stone’s-throw away
Public-shaming
The lay
Person, not on good terms
With their language
In anguish,
In angst-driven rage
I awaken
To fail yet again
To their testing
My patience
And waiting,
Ignoring,
Is all I can do
To preclude violent urges
To see this thing through
To an end
I approach
With the same
Ardent zeal
That a former me wrote
And believed
Could be real
An ideal
Self-delusion
Concluded since I
Arrived here
And appeared to them
Alien,
Distant
And weird

There is a little feeling
Inside me  it says don't think
Twice and it's alright
That's why I talked last night
Leave with me as the leaves fall
On the river of forgotten sorrows under the bridge
And tell me what you see

Must I remind you
How much you're gonna miss me
I'd take you for a good girl again
How far along without me will you go

Allaying her worries
She says
Don't people watch silly soap operas eating tiramisu
And lust after those sensual languid queens just like me
What's up in your home, she asks
Under the shade it's the same with you and me
As long as the sun and you are over my head, under a tree
I've forgotten you and me

Now look at me, struggling day and night
To do everything this time
I'm just a lonesome lover
I need a woman who can see through eyes that look twice
I see just a childish apparition of love that is