"audibly" poems
There's a ghost in the machine
A distant heartbeat
An echo
A recollection of tides pulled by the rhythm
Of the moon
A lunar cycle
Of leaves swirled
And now settled
By the whisper
Of the breeze
A message repeated
But not audibly heard
Remembered and understood.
You are in the right place
Where you need to be
All you need now
Is to breathe and be.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 5:40 AM UTC
his writing caught everyone’s attention
like an artist i once saw on the street in québec
he stood out amongst the crowd in montréal
i asked to take his picture
he obliged
this writer is also canadian
and paints masterpieces
with words
his colorful lines sometimes float on jagged edges
brushes of sticky sugar coating are exchanged
for starker strokes of reality
tinged with weathered wisdom
creating shadows in his work
accentuating the light
there’s not a write of his
that does not stir emotions
his words linger
rolling around in your head
bumping into each other
morphing into new connotations
his easel alive
you wonder if he did that on purpose?
could anyone have that kind of talent?
yes…..his brush continues flowing
even after the paint is dry
suddenly at midnight i awaken
and hear another morsel
a word, a phrase, a color
that only made itself known
in the dark of night
understanding he's a favorite
i imagined audibly hearing a collective sigh
when he contracted cancer
would he now leave his canvas dry?
no, this courageous artist
bravely took his palette
and continued painting
his words that us awaken
now e’vn more radiant
with tragedy astride
and ‘tho he talks of dying
i pray that he will stay
but should his spirit fly
we have seen a master show us
how to walk into the light
©2016janetaylor
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
In these rapid, restless shadows,
Once I walked at eventide,
When a gentle, silent maiden,
Walked in beauty at my side.
She alone there walked beside me
All in beauty, like a bride.
Pallidly the moon was shining
On the dewy meadows nigh;
On the silvery, silent rivers,
On the mountains far and high,—
On the ocean’s star-lit waters,
Where the winds a-weary die.
Slowly, silently we wandered
From the open cottage door,
Underneath the elm’s long branches
To the pavement bending o’er;
Underneath the mossy willow
And the dying sycamore.
With the myriad stars in beauty
All bedight, the heavens were seen,
Radiant hopes were bright around me,
Like the light of stars serene;
Like the mellow midnight splendor
Of the Night’s irradiate queen.
Audibly the elm-leaves whispered
Peaceful, pleasant melodies,
Like the distant murmured music
Of unquiet, lovely seas;
While the winds were hushed in slumber
In the fragrant flowers and trees.
Wondrous and unwonted beauty
Still adorning all did seem,
While I told my love in fables
’Neath the willows by the stream;
Would the heart have kept unspoken
Love that was its rarest dream!
Instantly away we wandered
In the shadowy twilight tide,
She, the silent, scornful maiden,
Walking calmly at my side,
With a step serene and stately,
All in beauty, all in pride.
Vacantly I walked beside her.
On the earth mine eyes were cast;
Swift and keen there came unto me
Bitter memories of the past—
On me, like the rain in Autumn
On the dead leaves, cold and fast.
Underneath the elms we parted,
By the lowly cottage door;
One brief word alone was uttered—
Never on our lips before;
And away I walked forlornly,
Broken-hearted evermore.
Slowly, silently I loitered,
Homeward, in the night, alone;
Sudden anguish bound my spirit,
That my youth had never known;
Wild unrest, like that which cometh
When the Night’s first dream hath flown.
Now, to me the elm-leaves whisper
Mad, discordant melodies,
And keen melodies like shadows
Haunt the moaning willow trees,
And the sycamores with laughter
Mock me in the nightly breeze.
Sad and pale the Autumn moonlight
Through the sighing foliage streams;
And each morning, midnight shadow,
Shadow of my sorrow seems;
Strive, O heart, forget thine idol!
And, O soul, forget thy dreams!
5.4k
i just want to find myself staring
at the bedroom wall with nothing
but your chest as my cushion
revealing nothing but our affection
i won’t even be in sad thoughts way too deep
because you’ll be there as i try to sleep
in my dreams, i won’t even dare to roam
because on your chest is where i’m home
we’ll just lie there in peace
who knows, maybe we’d even kiss
i won’t care, really
because with you, i can be silly
at times, i’ll even take a chance
at you, i’ll steal a glance
i’ll trace the curves of my face
that’s reflected on your captivating gaze
i’ll touch your hair with my free hand
and adore each and every strand
truly there’s not a piece of you
that will ever fail to keep me anew
maybe - no, of course! - we’ll cuddle
oh, how we’ll enjoy the snuggle
then we’ll find ourselves on the floor
oh, darling, you’re the one i’ll endlessly fall for
i’ll listen to your charming snore
that solid sound, i’ll spend time to explore
i might even laugh as you audibly breathe in
you’ve no idea how happy i’ll be within
as i hear your breathing and mine
i’ll know everything will be just fine
we’ll create our own piece of beautiful melody
to the lonely past, it’ll be our remedy
for it’s all that i ever long
our own version of a happy song
just let me hold you once more
and i promise, i’ll never ask for more
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
I lived my half dictionary life before I could
comprehend compulsory compromises.
Collectors arise, disguises and devices beeping,
chastising my blindness.
Gather geography from Afghanistan and Myanmar
graciously growing gold gilded gift horses,
gleefully gloating about floating far away.
My hoof beats above concrete match my heart’s defeat
across borders and mountains
embroidering cardboard cut-outs
calling deserts, decorating front covers.
Exhaling handcrafted letters for my missing half,
half demanding highest caliber commanders and half commanding completion.
Jade jays joyfully lay arrays of bouquets
fragile flowers decay faraway
in jawbones and jail cells.
Begging farewells in a hotel’s lobby
began my hobby,
early morning coffee and carbon copies
concurringly cocky around his dead body.
Gang ciphers for cartels are
Christmas bells hissing at collars,
half dollars embellishing bar crawlers
godfathers hollering at car haulers.
Atrocities across cities attack,
attachable atrophies audibly ambush arthritic anthologies.
Anomalies begin apologies between apostrophes,
advancing autonomy arousing ancient animosities.
All eluding Antarctica,
giant frozen crests, multi-coloured ice
hidden in my illustrations
anxious for my distant half.
Friday cassettes and cigarettes
deliberately making bets following “M”.
Breaking bindings and finding “beta” in alphabet,
may feasibly end in debt.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
She had an explorer's intuition
and a head full of dreams
that would suffocate
in this one light town.
I'd seen it since the beginning
and had to suppress
my selfish urge
to clip her wings
and keep her here.
But even so,
as we said our goodbyes
my eyes filled with hot tears.
I'll miss you so much
My voice cracked audibly.
*Don't worry, Love.
I'm only beginning a new adventure.
Turning a new leaf.
Starting a new chapter.*
I'll be back before you know...
And with that she was gone.
I waited until her plane took off,
and thanked God that I knew her.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
Never heard about a working of a court,
I was on the stand,
My counsel was a good lawyer,
The prosecutor had a fiery temper,
There was a minor chaos,
The judge banged his gavel
"Order, Order".
I whispered audibly,
"Chicken hamburger,chips,salad and a can of coke".
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
TW : eating disorder, suicide attempt, abuse
In my phone
There’s a contact name that’s just swear words
The occasional bad bad word that I can say in therapy but don’t in public
And it’s my mom’s contact name
I changed it after our 1millionth fight
Right before I left for uni
Because she called me fat
And at the time I was five months sober of my eating disorder
Maybe sober isn’t the right word but whatever
And my brain snaps
I scream and cry
She screams back at me
I call her “fat” back because I’m mad
And I spend the night sobbing
I even call my abusive dad who chose to leave therapy because he thinks he’s getting better
He hasn’t left his girlfriend who restricted food from me yet so, are you sure Dad?
And he tries the whole facetime while I audibly cry to not sound mean about her
And I thank him for trying in my head
Because my mom only refers to him as slurs or Satan
I eat the entire cake she got me in the fridge the next day
Before even noon
I feel bad immediately after but at least she can’t have any
And then I’m suddenly jealous that she didn’t have any
So no weight gain
I drink two cups of iced coffee with that extra calorie Starbucks syrup
And then my sister gets me Popeyes
She gets me this after yelling at our mother
Because we don’t really talk that much openly
But we both have our own scars from her words
Mine developed into eating disorders, cuts on my legs, and just general mental illness
Hers just developed into being a rock solid wall
When my mom comes home and sees me eating
She takes a bite
Aug 20, 2022
Aug 20, 2022 at 11:07 AM UTC
The girl's beautiful's
Not enough
Gotta check
if she suits me or not
Says Swamy Downey
Is she (a) cloth?
Wondered SIRI
Audibly
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
The snow set in the barn,
Where the horses once laid
On a cold night, ice spiraled
We tossed,turned, all packed
The troops tamed to acquiesce
Rifles silenced, bullets sacked
Stocks in deficit, awaiting ambush
Sores overturned and edged in holes
Our nerves dead in the silent night
Risking an aching machine, a body
Pushing to extremities, thrill seeking
My mind numb, body ignited in dumb
Left, right… series audibly recurred
Halting to reflect the extreme valour
A salute to quench and honor a reality
For I once sacrificed my "liberties" for "others"
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
Starting way up north from
from fair head in Antrim to
mizen head in Cork there is
not a Border Collie in the 32
counties wishing for a return
to The Troubles before the
Good Friday agreement when
meat was forbidden by the
Catholic Church because fish
is for felines and it was seen
by many canines as a blatant
act of segregation, racism and
even discrimination for which
the animal kingdom of Eire
(In the absence of a Monarch)
has been audibly vocal in all
of the four provinces, many of
the nations kennel clubs and
at last years Crufts Show in
Earls Court London, a Kerry
Blue refused to stand on the
winners podium with a Poodle
who shared first place, because
she was a vegetarian and not
at all sympathetic or supportive
to a universal diet for all breeds
on the island of Ireland.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
the wrong atmospherics of transmission
move in uninvestigated chaotic archives
red and pink turbulent storms swarm across
deep space frequencies in imaginative
currents of pulsars
that are translated into phases
each represented in diverse
conflicting modes of expression
in obsessive grooves of consciousness
cut up components of recycled narratives
audibly fixating on vibrations
that sound across the universe
in diffused spirals of manic fluctuations
converting archaic symbols into equivalents
of dust surfaces that oxidise in intermittent epochs
and deposit a rediscovered earth
an expansive transferable construction
of accidental providence
that allows for expression in artificially generated realities
hallucinated images that float
across the consciousness of the cosmos
producing visions that punctuate rational thought
become preoccupied with the conception
of interplanetary transpeciation
counting the chronological diversity
of those that occupy the black, blank
vacuum of space
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
Across and abound to the sounds of fire, they lurch and leap toward the river bend. The twilight is thunderous and bold, a fragmented frown upon this calamity of calamities. It's jagged, smooth streaks of light passing judgement from the heavens above. God himself looks on.
Bright Blues to blend with Grim Greys upon such an all encompassing canvas of green. I hadn't known the extent in power of the color Red before this night, in overpowering; in swallowing up, smothering. Exploding in iridescence and irony, in trite translucent tragedy. It sinks into the ground. As it sinks into the bones of myself and my posterity.
I shivered and clutched my chest, that my heart did still beat. Noticing to my relief, it was thudding quite audibly amongst the quiet stir of grass and leaves beneath my feet. It was then I noticed the haunting silence of it all. I was alone.
But I was not alone, my eyes could see the smoke rise, they could almost feel the bullets whip through the wind. The chill of which caressed my skin in sensation. But sounds of gunfire, bombs bursting, yells yelping, the riotous roar of it all, were absent as a shadow. My veins turned to ice, my skin to stone.
In one particularly magnificent mingling of light, in one irradiating instant; I stumbled as sound met my deaf ears. Lightning and Fire danced in the sky. In this soulless shimmer, the slow shuttering lens of humanity captured the essence of something much beyond the present frame of existence. Breaking glass and pouring out of corners, a transcendental photograph. Reaching out through the pages of time to be acted out in accents yet unknown, by peoples yet unborn, to scream with insoluble resolve. The heart of man beats as one, we shall overcome.
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 1:49 AM UTC
**Topsy and Turvy, hassled and harried
jostled among a jungle of jumble,
so busy they beavered, in search of a bauble
upon all the shelves, so deftly they delved,
... within the lair of the piffling frippary.
They ambled and rambled, so giddy they gambolled
and sought for that trivial trinket or trifle,
they rummaged and rifled, their eagerness stifled,
through struggle, they strived, from nine until five,
... within the lair of the piffling frippary.
Staunch but stressed, their zest so hard pressed
for until discovered, found and recovered,
they muttered and spluttered, and audibly uttered
within the lair of the piffling frippary,
... persuing that piece of paltry frivolity.
Now flagging, they floundered, not finding the foible
in shambles they rambled, revealing reluctance,
and ceding, conceding, they threw in the towel
on trembling, tottering knees they now tumbled,
... out of the lair, of the piffling frippary.
... ... ...**
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 10:42 AM UTC
Why do we grieve the heart of God
With the things that we men do
If God audibly spoke
He might say these words to you
Men talk about intolerance
Yet I still give mercy and grace
Men change the definition of marriage
And slap me in the face
Men bicker and argue and fight
About a waving flag
With all that's still to be done
About enough I've had
Men **** unborn babies
Yet I hardly hear a prayer
But the pleas of the unborn
They rise to me through the air
Men have taken me out of school
No longer there am I allowed within
Men have left me at the door
Of a place where once I had been
This list goes on and on
Men know the things I mean
Why can man not read my word
And from its pages wisdom glean
There is on the horizon a day
When every man will understand
When I come down from heaven
To give justice unto men
So go upon your merry way
Push the truths of God aside
Your guilt is not upon me
For to gain your obedience I tried
I will give unto men more time
I've an abundance of mercy and grace
But know within your heart o man
You will someday see my face
RLB
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
Sometimes I wonder
I wonder
Why's everyone looking at me?
Is it because I'm so pretty?
Than my other half says to me
As annoyed as a street musician
On a sunday
Nick your talking to me
..And quite audibly
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
Much like being trapped in an elevator,
Awaiting your rescue,
Wondering if you should be the one to save yourself,
But you start panicking once the doors wont open,
You feel yourself shrinking,
Drowning in your thoughts,
Internally collapsing from the stress,
You begin to hyperventilate,
But not audibly, no, it's completely silent,
The utter silence itself is deafening,
You question the stability and structure
Of the suspended room that your life is being held in,
Back to the silence, was that a creaking sound
Or are you just starting to become paranoid now,
Is someone on the outside trying to pry the doors open
To help rescue you, and get you out,
Or is someone simply mindlessly hitting the elevator button
Waiting for it to come, though it never will,
Surely they'll become annoyed and just take the stairs,
But how are you supposed to get out of this situation,
This state of complete panic, you start to sob,
And that's when you realize that this is what anxiety feels like.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
Wherever peaches grow I go and pick 'em.
When they get ripe I try and swipe 'em.
The farmer runs out with a shotgun and wonders where's the
varmint gone?
I'm hiding by the railroad tracks stacking the peaches I've
found.
Then a freight train about a mile long rolls by hauling a bucket
of rain.
I hop aboard while beautiful clouds gather to the north.
I put my peaches in the bucket and lug it to a hidden part of
the train.
The rain begins, the night looms in, it's summer and it's
thoughts and warm.
To the clacking rumble and the patter I close my eyes and
dream.
An earthquake swallows up the people who wear horrible
masks of fright as their daily tasks are trampled.
In a favorite movie theater an illumined lady puts her hand in
mine, warm mouths, breath, skin, hair wing-soft, whole
bodies, wind, bare.
I open my eyes at sunrise there's a steady glow of light
around.
If you can believe in God, you can believe the mountains go
from purple to green.
While the last partier meanders home to bed the first farmer is
up to milk his bread.
Fruit of the world ripens audibly and cities make a silent,
distant sound.
Lonely guy stretches, rubs his eyes, pees out a passing train,
has a breakfast of peaches and rainwater.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
He wasn’t a boy,
He was forty years old
But they called him boy;
A habit born of old
Bigotries and behaviors
Difficult to defend
But that doesn’t mean
They came to an end
The shoeshine boy
Mostly shined the shoes
And if anyone listened, he had
Good advice they could use.
But most read their papers
On the busy city street
And paid no attention
To the wisdom by their feet.
The people read the news
And ******* about things
And gave their confusion
Talkative wings.
One day a guy asked
Why do people do
The horrendously crazy
Things they seem to do?
The shoeshine boy looked up
And gave the man a smile
And said a pithy sentence
After a decent while.
He said it often,
Sometimes audibly,
“Most people die
Of plain stupidity.”
The fellow thought this wise
And shared it with his friends
And that’s how a catchphrase
Or idea ultimately begins.
It’s something that is simple
But makes a lot of sense
For those looking for answers
If they are not too dense.
Sometimes it’s the only answer
That seems to apply at all
When madness is afoot
And morality seems to fall;
When people waste money
On toys instead of their kids.
That is often how they take
A ride down to the skids.
If only they heeded the things
The shoeshine boy said,
They might have grown wiser
Fewer rocks inside their heads.
But instead they sided with
Maddening mediocrity
Never realizing most folks
Die of plain stupidity.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
When Susan’s work was done, she would sit
With one fat guttering candle lit,
And window opened wide to win
The sweet night air to enter in.
There, with a thumb to keep her place
She would read with stern and wrinkled face,
Her mild eyes gliding very slow
Across the letters to and fro,
While wagged the guttering candle flame
In the wind that through the window came
And sometimes in the sentence she
Would mumble a sentence audibly
Or shake her head as if to say,
“ You silly souls, to act this way!”
And never a sound from night I would hear,
Unless some far-off **** crowed clear;
Or her old shuffling should turn
Another page’and rapt and stern,
Though her great glasses bent on me,
She would glance into reality
And shake her round old silvery head,
With-“You!—I thought you were in bed!”
Only to tilt her book again
And rooted in Romance to remain
ባልቴቷ ሱሳን
ሱሳን ሥራዋን ሰራርታ
ትቀመጣለች ወፈር ያለ
ሻማ አብርታ፣
መስኮቷን አርጋ
በሰፊው ከፈት
ባለግሩም መአዛውን
የማታ አየር
በደንብ ለመሸመት!
ገፁ እንዳይጠፋባት
አልባ በአውራ ጣት፣
ሻማዋን ንፋሱ እያንገላታት
ተመስጦ በሚስተዋልበት
ቅጭም ያለ ፊት
እየተደመመች ታነባለች
ዓይኗን ከዚህ ወደዚያ
ወደዚህ ከዚያ
በፊዴሎቹ ላይ
እያደረገች ሸርተት፡፡
በዛ ኮሽታ አልባ ፀጥታ
ይሰማል በለሆሳስ ስትናገር
የሆነ ነገር
ወይ ጭንቅላቷን ነቅንቃ ስታበቃ
ስትል ‹‹ምን አይነት ናችሁ
እንዴት ንደዚህ ታደርጋላቸሁ?››
ከሩቅ አውራ ዶሮ ኩኩሉ
ረጭ ብሏል ሥፍራው ሁሉ--
አይሰማም ምንም ድምፅ
ካልሆነ መፅሐፍ ሲገለፅ፡፡
በትልቁ መነፅሯ ልታይ ዙራ፣
ሥፍራውን ማትራ፣
ሽበት ቀመስ ጭንቅላቷን
እየነቀነቀች ወደኔ ያየች
‹‹አንተ ገና አልተኛህም?››
ትለኛለች
ዳግም ወደመፅሓፏ ተመልሳ፣
በተመስጦ የፍቅር ታሪከ ውስጥ
ራሷን ልትረሳ!
(በዋልተር ዲላሜር)//
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
My Father was my example. I have a lot of my father's traits. He was a man of few words but his actions of caring carried much weight. Growing up on a farm in Western Nebraska, it seemed that it was a place where sandburs knew no bounds. They were everywhere. My father wore bib overhauls that had big pockets in the back. When I was little, the pockets were just right to fit my feet. When we came to a sandbur patch, he would pick me up and carried me over the sandbur patches. When I was tired after being with him on the farm and hot from the scorching summer heat, he cared for me.
My heavenly Father is my teacher through prayer, his word written and spoken and through the lives of others like my Mother and Father and many others.
Jesus is our example. Growing up and even today, the 4 words that keep me going in the right direction are: What Would Jesus Do. There is no better example to follow.
As a father, I try to follow the example of my heavenly Father. There are times I fail miserably and must ask for forgiveness from my family. My heavenly father never fails me. He carries me through the sandbur patches of life. He loves me unconditionally. Some day I will set foot on the heavenly shore as He carries me over the last of life's sandbur patches on my final journey of life.
Even though I have never heard my earthly father say, "I love you son", I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved me. When I would say to him, 'love ya Dad" his reply was always "uhuh". I can't hear my heavenly father audibly say "I love you" but I know from all He does for me His love for me is beyond words. His love transcends the audible and speaks directly to my heart.
I tried hard to not bring shame on my mother and father.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Fifteen and questioning everything, I said, I don't believe in you.
If you are real...Touch me. Speak to me. Give me a vision.
Is this not how it works?
If I obey, will you not...Prosper me? Bless me? Make me known?
I was confused. I misunderstood.
If you are never to physically touch me, nor audibly speak, or ever give me a vision...You are the realest thing in this universe to me.
Though scientism rule everything around me, my faith in you keeps me; poor but my soul prosperous, broken but blessed, and known by heaven.
God, you are the realest!
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
All of a Sudden
I was on my way to work, standing on the corner
waiting for the walk like to flash before crossing
I glanced over my left shoulder to check the traffic
before proceeding forward, when all of a sudden
there you were, a double-take if ever there was
eye-grabbing, breath-taking golden-haired goddess
I could not help but stare at her, even though I audibly
told myself do not stare at her you bumbling fool ...
Ir was 2 am when I awoke in a chilling sweat. The sheets
were soaked as my body was drenched. I had been having
this horrible dream, no nightmare. I was trying to evade
these South Equdorian rebels, who though I was some
sort of spy for the CIA, the FBI, NSC or something.
I had ducked in some heavy brush, when all of a sudden
there you were, the golden goddess I had seen this
morning while waiting to cross the street. You were
signaling to me to stay down, with your finger over
your lips telling me to stay quiet...
Ah Friday night, two tickets to see the Boston Red Sox
at Fenway park. What a way to spend an evening.
A co-worker who I had dated several times had scored
two box seat tickets from her boss at the Bank.
At the end of the 3rd inning, I told Emma I was going
to get us a couple of dogs and beers and strecth my legs
I walked up the ramp to the concession stand and got
in line. I looked over at the next line, when all of a sudden
there you were, this was the third time in 3 days that
we had crossed paths. Coincidence? What's the odds?
Something was going on and I needed to find out
what that something was. I decided I was going to
stop her and ask what was going on. I took my eyes
off of her for only a brief couple of seconds, but when
I looked back, she was nowhere in sight. I mean nowhere...
Gomer LePoet...
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 4:45 PM UTC
The third day of sitting vigil.
He lay so still,
Eyes closed,
Shallow breathing.
How small and in repose he looked.
His skin taunt and sunken,
So pale and grey.
Long had I loved and respected
This grown ancient appearing face,
Now pain and sickness changed.
His hands barely covered,
With a thin veneer of grey skin.
The finger bones so plainly visible.
Holding his hand, it felt ice cold.
I had watched some men die,
Understood how sudden,
Death could come.
Eyes open and voice speaking,
And a second later, they were gone.
An empty shell of what they had been.
For days now family and friends,
Came and went,
Seeing no change,
Tired or bored,
Needing Nicotine,
Or food left that room.
And yet I stayed,
Vowing to myself,
That he should not die alone,
To be there to the end.
He had fought the good fight,
Fending off the inevitable,
Brave and stubborn was who he was.
The results of all that,
Turned his departure into a
Protracted reluctant journey.
He had not opened his eyes
Nor said a word in days.
Still once in a while a shallow
Breathe was taken,
And the Life Monitor,
Beeped and abated.
Alone in the room,
I said my goodbyes,
Professed my love
and kissed his forehead.
He stirred and weakly,
Opened his eyes,
The most he could offer in reply.
His eye lids fluttered twice and
One last breath was audibly taken.
74 years of living and just like that,
My Father’s worldly existence ended.
The Heart Monitor toned,
A continuous flat line death song.
I reached up and unplugged it.
All these years later,
In my mind I can still hear it.
How brief and fleeting,
This gift of life,
Never to be taken for granted.
To a young person 74 years seems
like forever, take it from me, it is not.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
soft acoustic plucking
reverberating strings
buzzing tones flutter
freely creating visions
differing from space to space
occupied between my ears
twists whole majors into 7th quarters
altering the landscape from within
bleeding fingertips hide broken verses
note for note we lie to the sound
expressing pleasure in the mundane –
gently strumming with loving caresses
melodic to the point of melancholy
old tears sit on a stained floor
eclipsing the smiling children
that hide just beyond the glass pane
glossing the pain with symbolic imagery
a crucifix dangles
swaying to and fro
barely audibly tapping the fat statue of an enlightened oriental
in the shadow of a dream catcher
made not by native americans
but instead by undernourished brown waifs—
bending tones for a better view
I shed the physical and go incorporeal
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC