"braved" poems
I lie in bed, a lazy girl
dreamy smiled and and sleepy eyed,
your latest sonnet on my pillow –
my latest heartbeat, amplified.
Mar 30, 2011
Mar 30, 2011 at 1:30 PM UTC
Forget the days we shared
Forget the smiles, the tears, the words too coarse to bear.
Forget the blooms in Spring dancing through the air
Forget the garden we abandoned there
Leave thorns of plenty, and roses rare
Forget the voice of a sweet melody
Forget the buzzing bees tending to honey
Forget the notion of you and me
Forget the spices in recipes spoilt
The taste is a bitter sweet result
Forget what weather we braved together
Forget the cliche that everything gets better
Forget what you want to remember
Forget what should be and what doesn't matter
Revoke your thoughts, the hypocrisy they flatter.
Forget waking up in warming arms,
Seducing me with your charms
Forget whatever you gave me, though it wasn't much
A breath, A kiss, A touch.
Enough!
Forget all that I've said
These thoughts turning in my head
Filling me with dread
The words I've written and you have read
Forget it!
Those days are over my mind is set
Forget we ever met.
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 2:56 PM UTC
I took a walk in La Goulette yesterday
From the “Bridge-of-the-Casino” to the port.
The things I saw on my sun-bathing way
So simple they were, here is a report:
II
Sea snakes under a blue bridge did frolic
As hardware stores displayed paint in their windows.
The water snakes performed some dance symbolic
And the paint braved the dark rust from a distance.
III
And I, hastening to my liquid address,
Shot a side look at a man in a dress,
And hoped the blue water in the White Sea*
Would wash the wound bleeding in my memory.
© LazharBouazzi, 16/11/16 (revised Nov. 17)
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
This here...my heart is a book
Sadness and hope inhabit most pages
Marred by past experiences that took
Scribbled are the ironies and broken adages
Worn pages tainted by the lowest of my days
Dark ink leave them smeared and stained Fresh ones stay crisp; free from nays
Awaiting dreams and wishes I have not gained
Silent are the pages still left unwritten
As though I have saved them for something
For future chapters yet to happen
For you to come and begin your writing
Welcome the pen that would herald a new start
Imagined it's ink to bear the flightiest notions
It would speak in volumes ensnaring the heart
It would sing a song with the sweetest of emotions
Seep in, dear ink, into my pages past and new
Seep through, dear ink, feel free to make your mark
Seep strong, dear ink, maybe you could undo
Seep true, dear ink, and bring light to the dark
But rip not the old for they forever will speak
Lessons that are learnt, strength that was bestowed
Tears that's been shed, happiness that I seek
Gloom that was braved, hope that I have sowed
Come, my heart is your book
You are the sole pen to my infinite pages
Ink are your words that would fill every nook
Eternal is the bond that would last through ages
This here...the rest of the pages are yours
Occupy them as you have in my everyday
I was saving them not knowing my course
Almost as if I knew you'd come to pen the words you'd say
A promise as sure as the sun would rise
A promise made as good as the noblest of men
My book is open to our laughs and cries
As long as you would forever remain my pen
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
My body burns to rove far from man-made
buildings, prisons for the modern soul.
I need to traverse the frontiers white man stole
from those who made it their home.
I've been down to the Everglades of Florida.
Fan boats flew through the estuary lines with roots
of mangroves. I've been to the Hoh Rain Forest of
Washington where fog descended on the shoreline
and married the sulfur smell rising from hot springs.
I must experience America's coast to coast beauty.
Every spare seconds I spend luxuriating in the
sun, thinking of all the places untouched.
My list of desires grows as the glaciers
of Glacier recede in Montana, beckoning
me to the Rocky Mountain Peaks.
Old Faithful gushes, surrounded by wolves and grizzlies.
Someday I'll cross Yellowstone's expansive mountain ranges.
from Idaho to Montana to Wyoming. On the arches of
Utah I'll face my fear of heights and find solace at
the tops of time-layered sandstone towers.
Descending the Grand Canyon I'll study beautiful
colors exposed by years of erosion. In winter
Death Valley will be braved. The lowest and direst point
will exhilarate me with scaled creatures as sand
dunes whisper my name with every hot breath.
The Badlands of South Dakota will hope I come
backpacking through prairies to watch precious bison roam.
California Redwood trees and I will stand side by side
as friends. Yosemite will call me to her cliffs and I will chase
waterfalls and sequoia groves until I've seen it all.
I ache to explore the terrain that bears
my name, the country I call home.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
I once was on an endless journey
Of turning left and right,
There was bramble all around me, only
Nothing not alike.
Though none were up above me
I could not see the sky,
All except my inner strength,
I had been left alone to die.
Deserted by the moon and stars,
I was even without light,
But desperate to be free again,
I braved the endless night.
Time escaped me, also
I traveled a day, a week, a year,
But my body never weakened,
Nor hunger did I fear.
Even if I neared the end
I had no way to be sure,
So, I promised myself it was close ahead,
Just one more set of turns.
But the exit never greeted me
And disappointment, it grew strong
I had broken so many promises,
My credibility was gone.
I could no longer reassure my mind,
So I faced the truth instead,
I prepared myself for eternity –
And an endless path ahead.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 9:40 PM UTC
-
*****************
(haikus)
***********
Wine glass lay empty
toppled on the ground...its edge
smeared with red lipstick
Luster braved the dark
opals, sapphires couldn't hide
a face...so lovely
Stilled...supine...voiceless
stripped of fame...name...evil game!
success? envy? shame?
Opals, bright sapphires,
graced her neck...muted...like the
doe-eyed beauty...dead.
Sally
Copyright April 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 5:00 AM UTC
Saw a single clover...
Peeking out from the crack in the wall.
All alone... With no other.
Shivering in the wind.
Still it braved the unknown.
Just to see...
What was shown.
Touched the single clover.
So much courage within something so small,
so green and frail.
Standing tall in the torrential gale.
So much I could take and learn from it.
I shall make it my daily inspiration.
I shall leave it be.
So that on my daily walk back,
it could say to me,
*"I'm still here, you are too.
Let's keep on, keeping on,
till our days are through."*
On my walk back today,
I have looked forward to see the clover I've learnt to adore.
Only to find that it had gone missing...
It just wasn't there anymore.
The crack was vacant...
I looked all around.
I finally looked down...
And there it was on the ground.
A twisted corpse of what once was...
The storm earlier had ripped it off its perch.
The winds had overcome and left it in the lurch.
Grounded and defenceless,
It quickly became the target of many footsteps
belonging to people too oblivious.
The clover is dead.
But it's still so green.
As I looked at it,
I imagined what it would have said,
*"Keep on, keeping on.
You won't truly know...
You won't really learn...
And life won't show,
if you get too afraid of the storm.
And then you won't grow.
Stick your head out
and never be too scared...
To see and be a part of the wonders of the world
that the universe has infinitely shared."*
.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC
America, Why I Love Her
Written by John Mitchum
Poet/Actor
You ask me why I love her? Well, give me time, and I'll explain...
Have you seen a Kansas sunset or an Arizona rain?
Have you drifted on a bayou down Louisiana way?
Have you watched the cold fog drifting over San Francisco Bay?
Have you heard a Bobwhite calling in the Carolina pines?
Or heard the bellow of a diesel in the Appalachia mines?
Does the call of Niagara thrill you when you hear her waters roar?
Do you look with awe and wonder at a Massachusetts shore...
Where men who braved a hard new world, first stepped on Plymouth Rock?
And do you think of them when you stroll along a New York City dock ?
Have you seen a snowflake drifting in the Rockies...way up high?
Have you seen the sun come blazing down from a bright Nevada sky?
Do you hail to the Columbia as she rushes to the sea...
Or bow your head at Gettysburg...in our struggle to be free?
Have you seen the mighty Tetons? ...Have you watched an eagle soar?
Have you seen the Mississippi roll along Missouri's shore?
Have you felt a chill at Michigan, when on a winters day,
Her waters rage along the shore in a thunderous display?
Does the word "Aloha"... make you warm?
Do you stare in disbelief When you see the surf come roaring in at Waimea reef?
From Alaska's gold to the Everglades...from the Rio Grande to Maine...
My heart cries out... my pulse runs fast at the might of her domain.
You ask me why I love her?... I've a million reasons why.
My beautiful America... beneath Gods' wide, wide sky.
[topp]
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 6:11 AM UTC
A Wizard trapped her reflection.
To be within the mirror forever,
She had spurned him with rejection.
Two keys to a mystery box hidden forever.
A brave young Prince wanted to set her free,
Solve that secret of the mystery box.
So he began the search for the first key,
To open the first of the two locks.
He braved a dragon high on its' nest,
But he did not find the key hidden there.
He battled Ice Warriors with his best,
They had no knowledge of the secret to share.
Then he would save a Witch from a Demon Banshee,
She told him all he had to do was ask for his reward.
So the Prince was given the first key,
He searches on, battling a Demon Hoarde.
Years pass him by, until that Wizard he faced,
The Prince was an old man, he still would fight.
The battle was long, the Wizard was disgraced,
Gaining that second key was a victory sight.
The Prince travelled back to the mirror and mystery box,
He was tired and very old, but he would set her free.
So he took out both keys, and he opened the locks,
A light surrounded him from the beautiful sight he could see.
He is young again, he has his life given brand new,
From out of the box, he took out a diamond heart.
Now the girl starts before him with a heart that is true,
The Prince lifted her up in his arms, for they shall never be apart.
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 11:35 AM UTC
Your hands feel the cold stone
of this textured tower wall. You look up
and see an arched, hollow window gaping
like a moaning train tunnel, darker inside
than the moonless night sky.
Instead of a door there flutters a rose petal,
dry, crispy, impaled on a thorn
that succumbs and disintegrates into the cold wind,
leaving the skeleton of the thorn bush
without its last memory of sunrise.
This chilly autumn air pierces the bridge of your nose
as you turn your hooded head away and take a muddy step
back toward the woods you braved through
on this chilly, moonless autumn night.
As the impending fog before you thickens
the last touch of almost starry night disappears
with the resounding click of a tower door in the distance
that never existed on this chilly, moonless autumn night.
[First draft]
Your hands feel the cold stone
of this textured tower wall. You look up
and see an arched, hollow window gaping
like a moaning train tunnel, darker inside
than the moonless night sky. This chilly autumn air
pierces the bridge of your nose as you turn
your hooded head away and take a muddy step
back toward the woods you braved through
in this chilly, moonless autumn night.
As the impending fog before you thickens
the last touch of almost starry night disappears
behind the rolling black clouds.
Even the dry, crispy rose petal impaled on a thorn
succumbs and disintegrates into the cold wind,
leaving what’s left of the thorn bush
without its last memory of sunrise.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
I feel so lost and I have misplaced a part of me
Looking for answers in the rubble of emotional debris
How do you rebuild hard earned confidence
Smashed and swept, leaving no remnants
How do you stand on battered knees
And put on an expression that shows no crease
How do you recover something you barely just found
Something that exists neither above or below ground
Try not to limp because the world doesn't really want to know
If you braved through where thistles and thorns grow
They don't really care; In fact they might grow tired
Of the same dirge I insist on having repeated
I'm feeling the repercussions and myself I do blame
For expecting of you nothing less of the same
Only thing I can do is what I do best
Is to revel in overwhelming grief and fallen crest
Be annoyingly frail and exceedingly feeble
Soon may regret because some may deem it intolerable
Get up and chin up or I'll have more to lose
Still retaining the gift of breath I so choose
Pleading into thin air to quell the pain
As I try to piece myself all over again
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
The little girl clutched her balloon tightly
Careful not to let it go.
She loved it and wanted it to stay with her
Forever.
Alas, she clutched too tightly,
The balloon flew up to the ceiling of the room.
Horrified, she looked. Determined, she climbed
One height to another, to get her balloon.
Stretching her tiny hands out, she reached the string.
And just when she had it, she fell.
From height to floor she fell
Hurting her fragile frame.
The balloon in her hand, she braved the fall.
And just when she smiled
The sweet smile of success
Her balloon burst.
Her face fell.
The child grew up.
~Moniba.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
At the going down of the sun
will the world be less complete,
the cinched robe of night less intolerable,
as she ebbs away on cosmic string,
emulating a massless, dazed neutrino
blinking in and out of existence,
unobserved and uneffected,
liquored and unloved?
In the wake of a June flowering,
when foxglove lures the honeybee
in six day flash, bud to corolla,
blossom to blossom, parade of stigmas,
digitalis stamen braved, anther at his back,
the bee comes gathering where none else dare.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
S is for Seduction, a vast verb saved for flesh,
But in her outer-worldly tune, my thoughts become enmeshed;
Like at the great Salamis, where strength sought strike the feeble,
Seduction marked our birth, their fall—an end without a sequel.
L heralds in some fifty lads, of whom mere five would pass,
Bugsy, Daphne, Sylvester, and Tazzy, above their peers compassed.
The tests were long, the trials were tough, from nothing we had fostered
A team of lucky, noble lads to fight these migrant monstærs.
A is the assault, outnumbered and outclassed,
Our heroes boldly braved their foes until their stalwart last.
Despite their lead by tyrants, such Nawt of Hispaniola,
Our foes were forced unto retreat, costing us Lady Lola.
M is for the ones who’ve fallen, for them mourn reminiscence,
For those who proudly placed their names for our petty subsistence.
The fight is done, the beasts beat back, denied all loot and hoarding,
And so a statue is ***** Honorum Mikael Iordan!
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
I think you cut my skin a little deeper
With a razored tongue last night.
I think I froze your heart a little colder
With the ice of my barren eyes.
I think you braved my silent darkness
And I your hurricane of words.
I think we both drowned a little deeper
In the quiet of these unknown woods.
I know this place is un-ventured
Its terrain feels new to my feet.
I know the mountain has loomed higher
As the path unfolds longer beneath.
But still I saw that gentle shimmer
Like sunlight off the water, in your eyes.
I think you felt my soft surrender
To the warmth of your skin next to mine.
I feel the mist is clearing
Revealing a view that’s brand new.
I know that my heart is still holding
To your heart, and my smile is with you.
I know that your feet walk by my feet
Though we each step in different time.
I know that I always can find you
Because your path is close to mine.
I think that our skins will be healing
As a delicate layer grows through.
I think that our love will be stronger
As appreciation sinks inside me and you.
I love you more each day I see you
More as those eyes recognize mine.
I love you for cutting me deeply
And bringing a new light in me to life.
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 4:39 PM UTC
I
I took a walk in La Goulette yesterday,
From the “Bridge of the Casino” to the port.
The things I beheld on my shiny way
So simple they were, here is a report:
II
Sea snakes under a blue bridge did frolic
As hardware stores displayed paint in their windows.
The water snakes performed some dance symbolic
And the paint braved the dark rust from a distance.
III
At a green grocer’s cart a lady in jeans
Sought peas, artichokes, & broccoflower;
Two lovers, each tried to explain,
As a cat miaoed, what love was to the other.
VI
And I, hastening to my liquid address,
Shooting a side look at a man in a dress,
Was hoping the glazing port in the White Sea*
Would wash the bleeding wound in my memory.
© LazharBouazzi, Nov.16, 2016, revised Nov. 17, 2016, elongated July 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 6:16 PM UTC
Your hands feel the cold stone
of this textured tower wall.
You look up and see
an arched, hollow window
gaping like a moaning train tunnel,
darker inside than the moonless sky.
Shivering and enveloped in the autumn air
that pierces the bridge of your nose as you turn
your hooded head away and take a muddy step
back toward the woods you braved
on this chilly, moonless autumn night,
the impending fog before you thickens.
The last touch of an almost starry sky
disappears behind the rolling black clouds.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
As the stormy weather passes;
Shadowed waves along the bay.
The wind sweeps through the headland grasses,
And we breathe the violent day.
And violent days abound,
Where the sea and land collide.
And in every fishing town,
Lay the marks of those who’ve died.
They lay as stark white crosses;
Set within, green and grassy field.
And we that breathe tote the losses,
… And keep our thoughts concealed.
For what can man or woman say,
That will calm the hurt within?
For some that braved the sea today;
…. Have yet to come back in.
Ten souls are held in thrall,
By the dark and brooding seas.
And stark are the faces, one and all,
As we make our silent pleas.
Oh! Sailor set your canvas tight,
And make your actions sound.
See that the tiller is rigged alright,
And get ye homeward bound.
The church bell tolls a heavy toll,
And candles light, pane on pane.
Whilst desperate eyes search the rocky knoll,
Through high seas, and cur-sed rain.
Worried hands, wring worried hands,
And they wring out misery.
Wives fidget and spin their golden bands,
And make their silent plea.
Oh! Sailor set your canvas tight,
And make your actions sound.
See that the tiller is rigged alright,
And get ye homeward bound.
The rain sheets in across the bay,
It writhes in violent spree,
And we look anon in grim dismay
At the ferment of the sea.
And terrible it is to see that sight,
That holds fathers, sons, and lovers.
And hold the fear, that the sea just might,
Bear new crosses, ‘midst the others.
And in the silence of the rain,
As it dashes hopes upon the sea.
I walk with other souls in pain,
As we make our silent plea.
Oh, Sailor set your canvas tight,
And make your actions sound.
See that the tiller is rigged alright,
And get ye homeward bound.
The raging storm wreaks its worst,
Shadowed waves along the bay.
Our thoughts become bleak and cursed,
As we breathe the violent day.
And then a voice crisp and clear,
Shouts “Look ye to the lee”!
And there we spy the crew, so dear;
Of the good ship Karalee.
Oh, Sailor set your canvas tight,
And make your actions sound.
See that the tiller is rigged alright,
And get ye…
Homeward bound.
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 6:06 AM UTC
Embraced my chaotic waves
My mess after madness and
Braved my sullen storm
Reaching out your hands to
Accept the broken me
Calming my hysteric nerves and
Eagerly sailed along
Deep in the darker side of me
Mysterious our horizon may be
Even in these surges of uncertainty
My soul felt a different you
Only one who truly understands
Ripples of memories behind, that
Even my dimmest night will end
Jan 18, 2022
Jan 18, 2022 at 8:41 PM UTC
I woke upon this winter’s morn,
with Christmas in my heart,
despite the news across the earth,
and grayness it imparts.
Reports of quakes and Etna,
with its crest blown to the sky,
while Central Sulawes’ floods,
chased people for their lives.
In Syria, its people mourn,
the tears and blood they’ve shed,
their civil war, it rages still,
marks eight years with its dead.
The fires that swept our golden state,
left thousands without homes,
its victims living now in tents,
with nothing of their own.
While winds of last year’s hurricanes,
have raged on southern shores,
in Florida and eastern coasts,
all shook us to the core.
The caravan of people fled,
from countries to the south,
have braved too much already,
for a wall to shut them out.
Our country, now divided,
on beliefs we hold too close,
while people spew their hatred at,
those who challenge them the most.
And those who are in power,
cannot see beyond their nose,
to what tomorrow wants from us,
and what our world needs most.
But still, I see the kindness,
and the love in passersby,
when someone gives a hand to those,
who need it more than I.
I see the hope in children’s eyes,
where love and truth prevail,
when treated as tomorrow’s hope,
when peace on earth has failed.
So let us focus on the grace,
so often overlooked,
and make our resolution be,
to share our love on earth!
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 5:47 PM UTC
__I.__
Old flame; a spark of love,
Conflagration—a great deal for a crush,
A touch, a rush; all too much,
Tear filled eyes, after ashes rise from the dust.
Throttle neck, coughing like an exhaust,
Love to be a ride from coast to coast,
But we only spoke love just to boast,
We often did more than the most.
__II.__
Smoke from the chimney box,
Your eyes burning red—a fiery fox,
A scent in the springs of kisses phlox,
Our charred hearts swallowed the crops.
The land is grey in a colour of soot,
Something pretty is afoot underfoot,
For après—tragedy has a beauty take root,
Something grows ahead futures; by it's caput.
__III.__
A rose from the ashes—reminds me wisely,
That we gain a superior from former chaos,
Braved to awaken eyes; searching love blindly.
You've found that love, that one!--_the one_
Making two, to be loved and love!--_that's four_
For you're in love now, after another love.
__Tears of ashes no more...__
Jul 2, 2022
Jul 2, 2022 at 5:06 AM UTC