"banishes" poems
It follows me around you know
Maybe it never really left
It hangs around the air, light as a feather
But it´s presence, heavy as a weight.
As I sit on the bus, an empty seat at my side
It sits, it looks at me, and it stares...
And my mind is flooded with thing we used to do
Things of lovers: to kiss, to hug, to lose myself in you
To show you my affection, to show you I cared.
As I go out to take a walk, it walks by my side
It matches my speed, no matter how slow or fast
And my heart weighs heavy with things I could have done
Tell you I love you, being there for comfort
So much time wasted, never to return.
As I lay in my bed, it lays by my side
Perfectly still, just outside of my grasp
And our future banishes in front of my eyes
Our home, our family, our lives intertwined
It tears me apart, as I begin to cry.
It follows me around, but I can´t leave it behind
The ghost of you, it haunts me day and night
The mistakes I made… The errors of my ways…
I pay for dearly, every single day
Loneliness follows me, and it has your shape…
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and loneliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees, those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough falls to where the electric line banishes, connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 9:02 AM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and lonliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees,those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough delving where the electric line banishes,connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
Being invokes Form.
Form invokes Matter.
Matter invokes Mind.
Mind invokes Motion.
Motion evokes Hallucination.
Hallucination evokes Provocation.
Provocation evokes Dis-ease.
Dis-ease evokes Reconciliation.
Conciliation banishes Dis-ease.
Ease banishes Provocation.
Discernment banishes Hallucination.
Rest banishes Motion.
Stillness dispels Thought.
Concentration dispels Matter.
Formlessness dispels Phenomena.
Being alone Is.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
Lightning flashes through the heavenly body
The storm rages through everything like a flash fire consuming all in it's path
It seems all the world must be caught up in the tempest that drowns out thought and sounds
Light playing across the darkness as the world tightens to a single point
Like a tornado it swirls and whirls among this storm of sensation and power
Almost like a cacophony it pushes every other thought aside
But such a force is the ultimate harmony
The darkness clears
A clarion call banishes the storm except for the tornado's tip
Eyes wide she looks up at him and hears the voice
The command that releases the storm's energy
*** for me
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 6:39 PM UTC
BELTANE SONG
Here is the coming of summer when the sun shines on the land and the oak tree gives forth his new green leaves
The deer run through the forest people dance to the pipe and drum all celebrate the kiss of summer who banishes winter gone
We are all one with nature as the Gods and Goddesses are with the planet that is coming into bloom with the scent of hawthorn and elder
For Mother Nature has smiled on the land in this the time of Beltane a time of new birth and happiness and a time of love and healing
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
I could sit beside your tombstone for hours,
and reminisce that you are with me there.
I'd fill my hands with purple flowers
and place them into your scarlet hair,
and you'd laugh like a thousand golden church bells
as we whisper promises without giving tomorrow care.
We could talk alone 'til midnight
about the things we were too afraid in life to say.
I could sit beside you bathed in silver starlight,
all the while dreading the yellow day,
when the white hot sun banishes the ghost of you
and takes our sweet whispered words away.
The wisps of smoke that were your form, my lasting heart's delight;
I'll bend the wind in my hands and pull them close, if it could make you stay...
But that's for another conversation,
another tombstone,
another day.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
They once asked
If we looked forward
To trainings
Well I know
I do
On top of the
Cold regularity
That calms
On top of the countless
Hours endured
Under the sun
Like statues
There is one thing
I look forward
To
That is meeting
The lot of
You
Twice
A week
Two blessings
In five days
Of chaos
The seventh batch
The remaining five
Somehow
During those two
Or three
Hours of training
You guys somehow
Manage to take
All
That weight
Away
Introducing me
To new sound worlds
Teaching me
How to dance
Or just watching
And listening
To your amusing
Conversations
On all sorts of things
So
Open
Carefree
Not
Judgmental
No comparisons
And always
Each time
Each session
You'll never fail
To pull out
A genuine
Smile
Or
Laugh
From deep inside
This Abyss
One that cannot
Be contained
Or restrained
Or just simply
Watching the
Plain
Innocence
With all your kiddish
Knick-knacks
Just for a little while
It banishes
All that
Complexity
And through
All the gruelling camps
All the scoldings
All the punishments
The yelling
The pain
The standing
We still stuck through
You guys
May not know
How much it means
To me
To have such a platoon
Keeping me going
Through the tough times
When I really want
To give up
And give in
But just seeing
The five of us
Huddled together
In the smallest
Circle
Making small laughs
Small jokes
The complaints
The whining
It somehow makes things
Feel
Right
Pulling up that
Swinging end
Of the graph
Into a positive
Curve
At the end
Of the day
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
Sisyphus, my brother. This rock you push is a great weight to bear. It is too much and too little.
What is this Rock?
Sisyphus, my brother. Who can speak to you of toil? Who can claim your lack of will to be your restraint? That same rock to be pushed and rolled for time immortal is all that you have known. The rock is all your focus, all your desire. It is the world to you, in one indifferent globe. You have no thought of food, nor drink, nor rest, or other pleasures of this life. You know only your task and your object. The hill is of no consequence. The days spin past without you taking notice. Time is of no consequence.
What is this Rock?
Sisyphus, my brother. Who can speak to you of futility? Who can claim your time is productively spent? You, who roll to the top of that grim mountain the same heavy stone; only for it to roll from its’ perch to the stopping spot from whence you hauled it. With each day and each night you strain to force your task onward. Each drop of your sweat becomes a testament to your duty. Each drop a second. Each second soon forgotten. No matter what you could endure, the charge of yours remains the same. Your stone must rise. Your stone must fall.
What is this Rock?
Sisyphus, my brother. Who can speak to you of Fulfillment? Who can claim you are a man whose soul is empty? You, who look each day upon that same destiny without hesitation and without grief. Never have you turned from that same monotonous fate to other horizons; but have remained bound to it. Other men seek escapes and new journeys. They seek new faces and new glories. They want for gold and flesh and praise. You, who have none, do not grieve for them. You have the stone. And the stone must be lifted. The stone must be pursued. The stone gives life meaning. The stone gives life purpose. The stone banishes all doubt, all fear. The stone alone has worth. The stone alone has truth.
What is this Rock?
Sisyphus, my brother. The Rock is Love.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 4:19 PM UTC
I lived a childhood of dirt:
my beginning and end, my friend, my
frontier. Dirt was the reason why
when other kids were always sick, my antibodies
made me a demigoddess, a mud-pie,
sand-cookie, dirt gourmet
crunching lightly-rinsed carrots wiggled
straight from the ground.
It never hurt, never hurt at all.
Warm dirt under my knees and hands,
my nails blackened, feet buried like I
could root myself in the soil -- I was lettuce
with dirt at the center of each lacy skirt.
Horseradish, deep in the ground and bitter,
wanting to become something sweeter, a new
tree or rosebush or better yet a veggie,
like the wild dirt-skinned potatoes
I dug up in the yard.
But tubers don’t have moms who give
***** looks and shake their heads,
examine your hair and your nails.
She sighs at the dark stain of your
feet, and banishes you
to a white tub, where she scrubs
the back of your neck, muttering
“Dirt, dirt, dirt,” as if
she doesn’t know what you are made of.
So give me the dirt, because I know my onions.
Always digging for gossip, flipping up
the neighborhood skirt, curious whispers
the way cornstalks share their childhood
tales before being tilled down,
becoming rich, dark dirt.
Ashes to ashes, I recognize some
for what they are, just fertilizer
for the imaginations and vibrations of others.
I may be half dirt but don’t
treat me like it, full of grit and
covered in sand from my hands to
my elbows. But what I am won’t
put up with your ******** Dirt is
a mother, to feed and flourish, dirt
is a woman much like me, and you
will never know the dirt under my
fingernails the same way I do.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
Dark sky reserve gives way to swathes
Of generous reds in bursting final words
Against the sky. Multitudinous -
To overwhelm the mind with more and more
And teach us to inhale the time the day the
Lovely sway in heavenly gatherings, floating
Harvest festivals of oak and ash and beech
And dreams.
So lift me, sing me, ease me. Let me
Lie with like of you, and
So show trust in me, my words, when I
Do not. To say a word of truth to you
Of this day too glorious to stay
Nor - in right mind - would we wish it so:
It banishes itself from sight.
And so will come again.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
the false dawn
banishes
false hopes
of finding sleep
ahead of the rising sun
transient glow accompanies
first blush birdsong
the cardinal's aubade
ushering
greeting
the brush's first stroke
across the canvas of night
twitching limbs
bloodshot eyes
nonstop freight train of thought
all
night
long -
these afflictions allow me
to witness the lonely beauty
of today's sunrise
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
Happiness sneaks upon us when we least expect it
It appears without an appointment
It arrives without warning
At some point you find yourself lost in it
And wonder how you ever got along before
Happiness is an all-encompassing cloud
It steals sorrow like a thief in the night
It brushes the shadows aside
Happiness cannot be sought after
Because it will just disappear
But when you least expect it
Happiness comes
And it seeps into the cracks of your life
It ascends into the darkness
It banishes the blackness
And you have brought these feelings upon me
The utter joy that can't be put into words
By simply being who you are
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
As I hold you in my arms, my heart flutters. My only wish, in the moments that we touch, is that you are mine and not another's.
Yet as we part, my heart droops and wilts until our next embrace. The minutes drift into hours of longing for a brush on the arm or a subtle smile from your beautiful face.
Your touch casts away my troubles, your smile banishes my sadness. Gazing into your eyes, my breath is gone, and I am lost.
I can not find my way back into reality. My thoughts stray from the tangible. I forget my name.
The only thing that matters in that moment, is the connection I sense, holding your hands in mine, peering into your soul through your gorgeous eyes.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 1:29 PM UTC
As we wake on a winter white morning,
You are all blonde hair on a blue pillow,
Your smile is the sunshine in my day.
Our two hearts beat as one, now we
Are curling together, closer than skin,
As we wake on a winter white morning.
Too early to rise, too late for dreaming,
But just perfect for morning sleepy love,
Your smile is the sunshine in my day.
Our bodies touch and time slows down,
Perfect passion banishes a world outside,
As we wake on a winter white morning.
That flying feeling as we both let go,
The world is far below our flying high,
Your smile is the sunshine in my day.
Together no one can do us any harm, when
Night becomes day and we become one,
As we wake on a winter white morning,
Your smile is the sunshine in my day.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 5:34 PM UTC
her soft humming like birdsong
in springtime breeze
warms my winter heart
opens my closed eyes to
the new found sun
blooming on the eastern sky
petals of light rose tinged
lends such delight to the eye
lends such beauty to the day
it promises a passing of the harsh days
where a small cold sun only touched the world
with its weak pleading light
her soft humming caresses the ear
like a lovers kiss
it comes from her soul
she is a summer nymph dancing
in a storm of the solstice
winter a cunning woman tries to show
but this warm heart
banishes the cold
her soft humming reaches me
through the noisome day
reaches my heart
like birdsong on a spring breeze
like her soft voice saying good morning
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
Baptizing her head
in a basin of ash
the stark white of her
angel hair
now smokes with cinder black
Her eyes
green once,
now lighten in dramatic contrast
piercing white, ice blue
that leave your heart to tremble when she laughs.
Angular and insecure
her body a mere wasteland
of what it was before
For when He banishes an angel
she will walk the streets
as a *****
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
I just wish that my heart wasn't a star
Still shining bright to those that see it
But dead millions of years ago
Something to be wisheded upon
In the careless, childish folly of daily life
Such as making wishes
Pointless beacons of unrequited hope
That drives us as souls to the brink of sanity
And for some, such as the wanderer that I am
It drives us over that invisible boundary
And banishes us to an unfathomable pit
This pit, generalized as depression, insanity
Is seen with similarity amongst pits
Yet no pit is equal to another
Each is unique, special to and hated by its owner
Yet it is seemingly inescapable
And thus loved from necessity
And those who pass us by want to help
Offer a hand to pull us from the pit
But every outreached hand reaches a little deeper
And the abyss of life likewise deepens
Until you have no choice but to fill it
And filling such a whole is no simple task
First a pail of confidence is added
And then several more of momentum
As the hole begins to fill a hunger to heal forms
Where you overemphasize the process
And forget the reason
Thus the devilish being opens its jaws
And swallows every pail you have placed upon it
And mistakes your action for hope
And once more deepens exponentially
So here I lay, contemplating the treachery
That my life has slowly devolved into
And I have to question to myself
Do the stars in the sky hang so low
Because they feel the death of their brother inside me?
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
It's the best place to cry.
It's the place where it all surrounds you,
Covering you, engulfing you, drowning you.
It falls over you like every pound of weight placed on your shoulders,
It falls and runs over your barren, exposed, vulnerable body,
And when it hits the floor -- its gone, washed down the drain,
But it's replaced by another, and another, and another,
Never ceasing, never pausing, never calming.
It beats at your back, your face, you chest,
Until your skin in red, sore, raw.
It's the place where you don't feel tears,
It's impossible to tell if they're yours, or the water falling on you.
It's the best place to cry,
The shower.
It's a good place to cry,
It's a mask that protects you,
Covering you, surrounding you, isolating you,
It hides every acid drop that rips away at your eyes and cheeks,
It conceals you from others, banishes their comfort,
It makes you alone, weak, vulnerable
They can't see you, they won't know these feelings, they don't care.
They can't see through their ignorance, so I've used it to protect myself.
It's a mask that leaves everyone none the wiser,
All you have to do is wipe the stray tears away.
It's a good place to cry,
Sunglasses.
It's an unexpected place to cry.
It's a scary place, because everyone can see you.
And the scary part is, they do nothing but watch.
The ignorance of the mask is taken away, replaced with clarity.
They can see tears, but they will choose not to acknowledge them.
Light reflects from it, hiding some features, but the picture is still there,
Staring them in the face.
They can see the redness, watch the tears as they gather and charge your dry cheeks.
They watch, but pretend they didn't see anything because they have chosen
not
to
deal
with
it.
It's an unexpected place to cry,
Glasses.
I'm sorry.
I shall take my pain somewhere else,
Take my suffering to the farthest depths of my heart,
in hopes it will not destroy my soul.
I will feed your ignorance,
your picture of a blemishless world,
And pretend I'm a perfect person, in your perfect world.
I will suppress each tear, choke down each sob, and straggle each tremor,
I'm exhausted, but I must keep running
Running away from your misguided decisions, your accusations, your falsifications.
They are like hot iron, branded into my skin like livestock.
So,
I'm sorry,
I will destroy myself to spare your ignorance.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
You are the very best kind of liar.
The kind that lies to my emotions.
The kind that makes me weak,
Makes me believe,
Makes me feel.
You tell lies to a person's heart.
You lied to mine.
Time and again, you proved your skill,
And I proved my foolishness.
You are the kind of liar
That speaks with such honesty.
You're sorry.
You'll be there for me.
You are the liar that lies
To the desperate heart.
That deceives the reason
And banishes the doubt.
The kind of liar that makes
Me believe
That I'm lying to myself.
That you were there.
Are there.
Will be there.
You are the best kind of liar.
And me,
I am the worst kind of fool.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
Natural phenomena make for great metaphorical explanations
Of otherwise indescribable realizations.
When you've reached an epiphany about your own situation
You are dawning upon a new understanding, a new revelation.
And perhaps its this very satisfactory description
That drives poetry as a healthy natural addiction.
Words which could never be expressed with proper diction
Spring to life in pages written as if fiction.
Far too often we find ourselves relating to the feeling of blue
But a color in fiction can feel so much more real and true.
A not so hidden and blunt allegorical, yet personal clue
Banishes our inner animal, and allows us to begin fresh, anew.
What is this community we find in isolation so well described
That encourages others to respond as if obliged?
The common understanding rains as if prescribed
To be the antidote to the gnawing emptiness to which we are subscribed.
Some inner purpose is behind why I rhyme
Driving me to an inner peace that is sublime.
Those who wait for sunny days that are prime
Write poetry, the ultimate victim-less crime.
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 11:47 PM UTC
When someone shows us kindness
It always seems to be
That the good lord up above
Is watching over me
He speaks to us so often
In many different ways
He left his word to teach us
About the kind of love
That pays
When We see a sunset
You can feel him
Standing near
Or when you hear a melody
That banishes
Our fear
I see him in a garden
When it's in full bloom
His essence in the aroma
Of the beautiful perfume
I hear him in the sound
Of a new born babies cry
I see him through
The beauty of a gentle butterfly
I feel his gentle spirit
in a summer breeze
His strength I see strong standing tall
Through the vision of the trees
He touches our hearts in many ways
I've no doubt that he's there
We only have to look around
To see he's everywhere
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
I feel like I am on a train
Watching life speed past me
I only get a glimpsed of the view
Before it is replace with another
I pass busy cities and quiet country sides
These pretty images guide me
And provide me with distractions
A bona fide offer to occupy my mind
Then the train would go through a tunnel
And I would be surround by darkness
Out the window, I am faced with my reflection
A grim ghost, staring into my soul
Head filled with the meaningless
That when I have nothing to distract myself
I am forced to dwell on my thoughts
All my misery pushed away returns
Attracted like moths to the light of my reflection.
They flitter about, rapidly gnawing my clothes and skin.
Who knew misery had such a voracity.
My reflection only looks on with apathy.
Thankfully, this encounter is only brief.
And the train comes out of the tunnel
The sudden light banishes my reflection
And I can continue to look out at the view
Watch as I speed passed it
Without thought nor worry
For the moths have scurry away
Leaving me in peace, for today
Although this train is on a straight line
It feels like it is going in circles
Darkness seekers must be the conductor of this train
As it won’t be long till I return to the tunnel
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
Love is more than...
A feeling
An emotion
A romantic notion
Love is often...
Quite a challenge
Painful - like a sore to heal
Not always the real deal
Love sometimes...
Is lacking
Has no appeal
Is falsely based on how you feel
Love certainly...
Requires risk
Will not always be returned
Is a gift - cannot be earned
For without love...
We would not be human
But merely beasts
Therefore, love must increase
Nobody is...
Hopeless in a desire for its reach
For shattered lives can be made whole
Love can penetrate a broken soul!
Love is...
Not a tired, worn-out cliche
But not as carefree as it is told
A treasure I'd never trade for money or gold
Love ...
Banishes hatred
A state of being and mind
Truly, of values, sublime
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
Fern leaves mirrored light is bent
Dewdrops glistening heaven sent
Dry lands drinking sky borne rain
Again the echoes sound so strange
To be tomorrows yesterday
Sitting quiet living in today
No past no shadows now of grey
Wondering now what made us stray
From things so common to the plan
Altered fabrics change of brand
Voices echo through the night
Stalled by sunrises warm soft light
Ash damped down by dying fire
The hopeful press and never tire
Spurred on always by lifes hope
Seeing always the ways to cope
Mirrored images waterfalls pass
Crystal pinned diamonds on the grass
The seasons casually spinning wheel
Meeting lifes terms meeting lifes deal
Seeing things for truth what’s real
Heartbeat constants knowing feel
Believing now it’s worth the cost
Warm sunrise banishes night’s cold frost
(GE2014) (C) Reserved
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC