"challenged" poems
Words cannot explain the depths of my misery that I bare inside, for all the times I did you wrong.
You are the one person who was and is ALWAYS there for me, your PERFECT in every way, I love you so hard I would die for you?
Why do I question such acts of loyalty?
I do not understand, please, I'm so mentally challenged when it comes to you.
Am I that selfish, that I won't change my life for you, put you first?
When I know by ****** HELL you deserve so much more!
I can't stress the word deserve enough!
If all the men in this world treated you like a KING, you would still deserve more.
You changed me, saved from my own self, you showed me TRUE love.
I know I love you, but I dont know if I am good enough for you, I am lowly & this is where I feel like i'm never good enough, but it hurts me when I hurt you by not trying.
PLEASE, I LOVE YOU & even until this day I never questioned my love for you, not ONCE in my life, I swear on that.
Even when I barely knew you.
So I will try, I will fight, I will strive to keep you happy but just know I am not perfect & just know all I want is your HAPPINESS!
I did you wrong, many times before & hate myself for it, I promise!
But just know, no matter what, I will never ever hate you.
On the day I die, before it & forever after I...WILL... ALWAYS... LOVE...YOU & will never & I mean EVER, no matter if I try my absolute hardest, forget you.
I Love You & that will forever stay, just like the world's beautifulest stain you left on my heart.
I'm sorry I did you wrong & I'm sorry for anything I do wrong in the future, but I will never leave, I will indefinitely fight for you & I.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
Was with a salacious witch
with amazing quick silver tongue,
Confidence personified
she challenged me to chase her,
If I so wish, not in words.
Her liquid eyes and gestures,
made me mad with pleasure
by the time we reached the peacock hill.
Peacocks, big blue eyes painted on feathers,
each, was in love with her, it seemed.
Danced vying with each other,
to please her, while she winked at me.
As if to say"They'll **** each other
to get my glad eye"wouldn't I feel jealous?
Helpless, I did surrender to her spell,
like others in the line, in my front and back.
When just one touch of her index finger,
would evoke magic, I'll get
Transformed to a young peacock
of exquisite beauty, with blue green plumes
none have ever seen before,to flaunt at
others of the ilk, on seeing it they'd back out.
Such a witch is one of a kind,my mind
whispers, it's she who assures me this,
On the full moon night, due in a week
we'll fly to the far away hill where
She'll be with me helping to build a nest,
turning to a peafowl herself,
She'll lay a dozen eggs,
yes, in to my ear, she says, this is only later,
h
When, she with index finger will
gently touche me and proclaim, thus:
"This is the peacock I enticed and
with my witchcraft ,bound for life"
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
Utopia Must Be An Invention of the Mind
I have searched long and hard, trying to find that place
where peace and serenity, in our world may yet grace
a chance to meet a dream come true, if only for a few
where pain and suffering are gone, and will never renew
Then I realized, this Utopia I seek, on a map will not be found
still an undiscovered world, whose contemplation will confound
finding some comfort, the thought of my soul ascending on high
no longer to be troubled, suffering on earth never again to decry
A world exists but not for the living, to experience this garden of delight
a place where the happiness of life's dreams, will satiate your appetite
where fear and worries cease, hope and desire now become your reality
trials and tribulations throughout life, ending with that long awaited finality
Maybe Utopia really does exists, but only with extreme effort can you hope to say, it you have acquired
but most people refuse to commit, unwilling to put in the time and effort that is unquestionably required
how mistaken we often are, thinking we can still remain happy, giving up by settling for that much less
only up to the point we are once again challenged, and our daily events again cause us all of our stress
To understand why so many people never seem to be satisfied, no matter what they have, it is never enough
first we must acknowledge the answer might be found in the lies people believe, but most of them are a bluff
Utopia must be an invention of the mind, convincing itself that feelings of joy and happiness are close at hand
seemingly it might then be prudent to maintain this self-deception, since this is what our egos really demand
Although it has been stated time and again that Utopia does not and can not exist, yet we still continue to dream
coming to teach us this great lesson in human psychology, how much for happiness' sake, we're willing to scheme
yet we can take note to the fact that despite our varying differences, this human condition remains constant in us all
our primary need for true happiness is why we can rest assured, invisible Utopia we will forever continue to recall
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
The builders of Stonehenge
Were pelvicly challenged
So they erected a monument
In such a way
That it could be interpreted
As a displacement activity.
And the rest as they say
Is pre-history.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
I wear glasses to see,
Not to look "cool."
I read books to feel intellectually challenged
And go on adventures to new lands,
Not to take pictures of the pages
On my Nikon camera
And get "notes" on Tumblr.
I drink tea to relax myself,
Not to be like everybody else.
Do all these things make me a hipster?
A poser?
Or myself?
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
She does not own a fighter's body
But you can tell right from the start
That the thing they have in common
Is...she has a fighter's heart
For as long as I have known her
A scrapper she has been
A lioness well challenged
She is cunning, though not mean
Her battle is internal
Her trophy is her life
Her body's full of cancer
She's tap dancing on a knife
She won't back down from any fight
Not this one...that's for sure
She determined like a fighter
She wants this fight...and one more
It's a battle for survival
She's as tough as old Ali
Her battle cry is awesome
"You will not be taking me"
I write this for my mother
The toughest woman that I know
And regardless of her cancer
Her pain...she'll never show.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
FANCY AS ****
I knew something was not right. I went in with a sledge hammer challenged the truth and you put the phone down. Me in London, You in Dublin. One day to our planned London Weekend.
*I came in like a wrecking ball
Yeah, I just closed my eyes and swung
Left me crashing in a blazing fall
All you ever did was wreck me
Yeah, you, you wrecked me
I never meant to start a war
I just wanted to know the truth
I wanted you to tell the truth
I couldn’t live a lie; I was running for my life*
When you put the phone down on me on Wednesday night Oct 10th followed by a solicitor’s letter the following day, that was abuse. That letter was profoundly nasty. It was all a lie, just like as I now know, the rest of our relationship was. You went to the Garda, anything just so I would not discover the truth.
Your abuse is not without it's consequences. I needed you to tell me to talk to me. I don't feel revenge, anger, hate; I just feel utter shock, used, physically abused and mostly devastation.
But you know what, it hurts like hell, but I will fight back and I will find my way out of this abuse. I find it hard to believe you want me to suffer like this. Now I know you ‘Fancied Me As **** Why not just be straight up? Why all the lies? Why not give me the chance to walk away when I wanted to?
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 12:04 PM UTC
He held my hand today in the most delicate way,
as if my fingers resembled flower petals and my
palm reenacted butterfly wings. My hand felt
fragile in his grip, which mimicked my feelings
towards him because his heart did not belong
in the spaces between my touch - his heart
belonged in something as light as air; something
as delicate as cotton. And my heart was tattered
with thorns, assured to shred his into pieces. All
the more treacherous, he traced my fingers be
tween my mittens, and it still felt like fabric -
contrary to your inevitable static. And that is
when I knew that even though he did everything
right, he made it that much worse. As much as he
tried, my frost-coated lips challenged the warmth
in his voice, and it wasn't me he needed. It was I
that needeth not deserve him.
gd
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
*
The fume
A thick dark fumy cloud
Dormant it lies, but often loud
Precariously overhead, it flowed
The sunshine of the life, it swallowed
It rained, challenged by the mighty peak
In the heart, It pained, to see it weak
The cloud was small but heavy
However dusty and floaty.
The doom and gloom
Embracing in its shadow
In desert, plains and meadow
Eclipsing the days, sunny bright
Dreadful, with the darkening night
With me, always hanging around
When noticed, nearby it's found
Haunting me with a sadness
Flaunting its darkness
A lot in the cloud explored
Then consciously, It was ignored
But dancing at the back of the mind
Past hurts and pains, it put to rewind
The boom and bloom
And then, letting it flow across, I got immersed,
In fine tiny droplets, the cloud
dispersed,
Now each droplet addressed
separately
Was dried in the shiny sun
completely
All of the cloud, dripped to
evaporate
Condensed eventually, as
distillate
My pains, by that elixir,
cured,
Alchemised me
into
24 carat gold
*
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 9:24 PM UTC
Year after year
purity of fire
is challenged by evil,
appeased with offerings
A full moon looks on
as winds stoke embers,
flare flames
to a flickering dance
Right in the center
of crimson blaze
sits Holika,
Prahlad in her lap -
her arms a circle of heat
White sparks fly from her hair,
eyes smolder in fury;
her mouth ***** in air,
engulfs rice and wheat
Wood chars,
coconuts splinter,
flowers singe
smearing earth with ash.
Year after year
faith survives.
Holika burns to death.
By Unknown
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
*hitherto i naively challenged
my decision to enter an ominous existence
a vicious maze veiled in obscurity
inconceivable to navigate without the accumulation
of bruises, heartache, and psychic mutilation
the torment’s ache so unfathomable
i begged to evaporate beseeching death’s arrival
and with the dexterity of a masterful wizard
i magically spun threads of my shredded soul
into a mangled ball of mental lacerations
then stealthily in the opaque of the night
i rushed the frigid black ocean’s high tide
and deluging myself in the ebony water
i buried the battered ball
now deeply eclipsed in the onyx abyss
it sapped all my strength to hold it under
drowning in the wave’s of sea motion
stinging salt alive on my pours
gasping for air i surrendered my grip
releasing my marred orb of élan vital
capitulating to the sand on the beach
i ceded the fight and watched the sphere roll
unraveling it glistened against the white sand
an opalescent tapestry lit by twilight
mirroring the stars against the coal sky
in the lustrous lunar midnight
reflected back by silver moonlight
littered with specks of fluorescent insight
astonished i drew in my breath as i read
words interlaced in the untangled web
the wounds are there
creating a looking glass
peer in
and you will heal
your own consciousness
©2016janetaylor
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
I find myself looking for words.
Combinations of feeling
I did not know existed.
I cannot breathe.
I struggle for them
& make myself a fool.
The world was so big before I met you
& now I'm grasping for it,
unable to recall it's delusion
as I am pulled into your orbit.
Out of drifting dreams.
My mind goes blank
& all I can see
is the dark galaxy that is you.
Alien, beautiful & natural.
You haunt me.
I nearly never believed so big,
& you infiltrated this complex defense
to show me what's been missing.
Half crazed by the loneliness of space
I cannot articulate.
Another form of art I hesitate to express.
I do not trust myself
that it will not be perfect,
fluid,
each stroke of the tongue
like the brush fear failure.
I want to show you all I see
beneath the stars.
Let the brilliance of the moon shine through.
But she is stuck.
In the cloud of curious awareness,
my eloquence cripples me.
How many things can I say
before I lose my grace?
& I dread
the company of simple minds
who cannot love stories.
So eager,
your patience holds the hand of the clock.
I want to watch your eyes glow
lit up by the music from my lips,
& I want to be carried off
by all you reminisce.
I can't believe in chance
when a soul like yours comes to court.
Thrice even.
I am challenged by the core of you.
Inquiry.
Things I cannot see
& stopped looking for.
If I take no notice,
I will not be seen.
Drawn into someone else's dreams,
Abandoning me.
I forgot how to identify
with my kind
so that I did not lose me.
Then I rusted over.
The great machine locked away
while the shows went on
in Technicolor.
Introspective
losing passion & luster inside this shell.
How you found me,
only body in forum.
You took me out to play.
Engaged, stalled, oiled & sparked
Life.
I am reminded of a better me.
An affirmation,
of my Dominant heart.
His voice,
the coaxing in my womb to Be.
Away with closed up, dying to shine.
You wanted to show me off,
pretty girl.
I remember being a Goddess
& shattering the abyss around me
with heart & raw warmth.
The fire of honesty.
Unsatiated wander bred in me
& I held nothing back.
Now the world is clay
& my garden to build upon.
Train me to grow.
I am inspired to be stardust.
Permeate every corner of this heavenly body.
I find myself the eager student of Aquarius.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
Queen of passion
Broken through love
She who gives all
Surely loses it all
Passions burning flame
No other flame may withstand
Burning out
Flame versus flame
Sad socrpio
You let a dull match in
Twig with no spark
Stealing your fire
Dulling her shine
Sad Scorpio, you know
Flame dulled
Stolen fire, a burning rage
Sad scorpio
Broken by a dull stick
Dull stick
Calls you dull
Sad Scorpio
Sad, sad Scorpio
Wishing to burn
She has been robbed
Flame stolen
Flame that once burned
All who challenged
Sad Scorpio
Steal your flame back
No.
You let him burn
He won't reignite your flame
No.
He burns you
Burns you up
Yet you stay, sad Scorpio
Says he is the only one
Who will keep you warm
No.
He burns you
Sad Scorpio
Steal your flane
Let him dwindle
Shine again
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
This year:
(for those with brave hearts)
I hope you find the strength to make your choices and fight for the life that you want.
I hope you look up from all your hard work and realize how much you've grown.
I hope you find yourself saved sometimes.
I hope you find time to get lost, in your head, in the wilderness, to explore forests, and gaze into rivers.
I hope you find your best self looking back at you. I hope you know you're always growing.
I hope you feel challenged.
I hope you never stop believing in the view from the top of the mountain.
I hope you get there. I hope you find it was worth it.
(for the softhearted)
I hope you find more time to laugh.
With your friends, at yourself, or at the world for ever thinking it could hurt you.
I hope you can take the pain and say "thank you."
i hope you realize it has only made you all the more good, all the more beautiful.
I hope you start looking less at the mirror, start believing more in who you are in other people's eyes, what you know you are in your heart.
I hope life gets sweeter, hope you wake up with your head in the clouds, your soul flying.
I hope you finally find what you're looking for.
I hope you find yourself smiling.
(for those with big hearts)
i hope you realize how important you are, how you make people feel appreciated and loved.
i hope you realize that the world wouldn't be the same if you weren't trying so hard to make it a better place.
i hope the world tucks you into bed, proud of its little soldier.
i hope you appreciate yourself for your efforts.
i hope you never get tired of being a champion of the things people say no longer exist - so much kindness, goodness, love, peace.
i hope that you find fulfillment in the little things because sometimes, that's all we get.
little things like knowing you made someone smile, or that the people you love are doing fine, doing better.
i hope you realize that's all you need.
i hope your heart is proud of itself.
i hope the love that burns in you always keeps you warm.
(for the fainthearted)
I hope you realize there's so much more to your life than you thought there was.
I hope you find moments that make your breath catch, a million things to marvel at.
I hope life surprises you. I hope you surprise yourself.
I hope you find your horizons expanding, and see that it's not as bad as you thought.
I hope your dreams take you places; I hope you travel paths that you never knew existed, but where you feel you belong.
I hope you discover your longings, what your heart would sing for, what you didn't know you wanted all along.
I hope you get up and chase it.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
Though in dexterity my physically challenged carpenter father,
Than the physically fit proves better,as a source to his anger,
With contemporaries a level ground he enjoyed never!
From late childhood there was one thing that me used to bother, why my so discriminated father
On his turn true to cultural dictates,ill treats my domestic chores saddled mother
And heeds not her say though by the sweat of their brow
As responsible parents they were happily bringing my sister and I together?
I still wonder why ,why ,why my sister who has IQ
On par with me if not better,to help out mother
Suffering a cold shoulder even by her mom was denied the right to pursue education further
While I was given a chance to prove a man of letter(s)?
I remember, crossing many a pool, barefooted, I used to trek
A long distance to a nearby town's a school,
Where for my provincial and shabby clothes I was seen a fool
By the relatively rich in showing courtesy far from cool.
Though stationery they didn't lack , sad,I had a hand tied behind my back.
Alas,up on joining campus where I yearned for the sagacious a chance
There too in my class,I was looked down by students
Hailing from families of the top brass.
When I went abroad for a higher education enjoying fellowship and donation
Worse still, I met many, colour has coloured whose vision.
Ironically my dissertation was drawing attention
To why should the broad mass be standers by
And with ill-fate marked die
While the favoured ,racist and the corrupt few gobble over 3/4 of the pie? /
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 3:11 AM UTC
It was hard to miss Jerry
in the corner
holding court
over the bran muffin.
Flurries of judgement and wisdom
flying across coffee dappled pages
as he sentenced a large cup of
Paruvian Dark Roast
to be ******
7 am Dan never flinched
steeling his tenured chair at
a spot one section of stir sticks away
calculably just out of reach
of the regularly scheduled tantrum.
An auburn-haired newbie
fanes camoflage
peeking over two pages of Obituaries
she never intended to read.
Her raised and nearly detached eyebrows
hover above the dateline like a magic trick.
And on every table fall
scattered leaves
of press print trees
unsorted and littered with intent
by careless absorbers of trivia.
Disconnected
ear-budded
footnotes of humanity
see nothing
hear nothing
using the disarrayed World News as
enormous coasters
unmoved by hyper-ventilating compulsives
pushing panic buttons through
desperate quests to uncover
one alphabetically organized set
of local news.
Of the papers not strewn
the remnant holds anxious
on a distant wall
a throng of flopping
rabbit-eared
step children
dangling precariously
from unaccomodating magazine racks
like smoky orphans from
windows in a fiery building.
Disordered.
Disrespected.
Discarded...words are
Jews in the holocaust.
Death of a voice.
We are irreverent in our silence
diminishing genius through apathy
put off by the imposition to be challenged
choosing disposable principles
above responsible knowledge.
Everything is disposable - cameras, cars,
relationships, loyalty, babies...and wisdom -
crumpling Pulitzer prize authors
and discarding WW2 veterans
just to get to the cartoons.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
the child of the child of my woman,
cries in the night,
rooming next door,
down the hall
and
he is
all children that cry in the night,
but he is
more mine
by right of quantity
numerous are the kisses lavished,
this biannual visit upon,
his four year old
oversized head,
(so full of 'bains')
his undersized,
protuberanced belly body,
a combo making him
no longer baby,
nor a grownup,
both states,
he denies accurately,
maturely in a wobbly voice
of utter certainty,
but lacking the adjectives
of what lies between,
he debates his state thoughtfully,
until distracted by other
more pressing matters of state
he is boy, little but vociferous,
quiet, pensive, his head a weapon
of...confusion and certainty that
being four years old,
he must perforce be
permanently
in skeptical awe of the world
this is the best position ever,
he has ascertained,
to filter and behold anything,
whatever newness arrives,
which is constant,
streaming and unending
until new is
fully digested, analyzed, and classified,
as if he were
a zoologist in
a wild and untamed land
only certain of what he knows
with perfect certainty,
he consults with me still,
"you kidding?"
such a sophisticated analytic interrogatory,
wise in the ways of grownups,
who, prone to deceive gleefully
his very
suspecting mind,
so much so,
they must be challenged and
rebuffed all too frequently
he cries in the night,
normal tears of discomfort,
physical or mental,
I cannot tell,
for his father
his parental hearing
more practiced, refined,
has preceded me,
such,
as it should be,
and I am dispatched back
to my 3:00am bed,
left only to ink
contemplative ruminations
on the state and nation
of being four...
and sixty,
and still uncertain, even more
than the little boy
of wizened age of annualized four,
the child of the child of my woman,
on
what is real, what is kidding,
in a quest unending
to better ascertain,
the state of my own being
and the transitory nature of
everything
all of what is thought certain,
falls aside,
under the withering,
unwavering,
critique of
"you kidding?"
and in this we are
more kin
than if our blood was
physically shared
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
The equilibrium of the ecosystem is challenged by the rites of the 11th Century Norsemen. Smell the pine in the forests of North America where the dream catcher swings in the branches of the misty Boreal forest.
We must never forget in our futile plight for supremacy, that the roots of trees are deeply connected to the annals of history where contemporary grandiosity is a mere mirage of what we call sophistication.
Toccata and Fugue in D Minor is where Johann Sebastian Bach communicated his message as clear as the cries of those who were slaughtered in the Highland Clearances. Parallel octaves of our Viking ancestry are firmly established and will never be altered despite the quests of the New World Order.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
All these days
I thought I was fated
Challenged against my will
To gain the trust of strangers
Strangers who turn into friends
Friends who turn into lovers
Lovers who turn heartbroken
I don’t bow my head to their feet
I bow down way beneath
To offer this trust
In desperation to be trusted
With the impression that trust happens on the outside.
While I feed my soul to the world outside
While I feed myself an understanding
That strangers turn into friends,
I am blinded away from my world on the inside.
Those I always know are my own
Become more transparent than invisibility
Those I take for granted as my own,
Become the strangest of strangers.
While I chisel and chisel away
I shape strangers into friends
Friends into lovers
Until I carve a bit too deep into the stone
Realizing a little too late its fragility
Lovers turn broken hearted
And I fall
And there they appear all over again
My very own strangers
They reappear
With love
They disappear again
With strangeness
Yet only they appear again
And again
Godsend, these strangers are
They let me walk away from them
They let me befriend
They let me love
They let me hurt and get hurt
They let me fall
They watch me fall
Yet they appear,
Only to pick me up again
To hold me with grip
To be my crutch, my wheel and my horn
To be the strangers I first opened my eyes to
To be the strangers who showed me friendship
To be the strangers who taught me love
To be the strangers whose hearts are too strong to break
To be the strangers I call,
My family.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
Feeling out of place
Craving for familiar faces
Longing for warm welcomes
Aching for the sense of belonging
Trying to keep it together
Defeated?
Isolated?
Anxious?
Not at all!
A warrior of light never gives up
A warrior of love is never alone
But a warrior is always challenged
Invited to look within
It isn’t easy to start a new
Walking through unknown paths
Holding faith very tight
Allowing patience to guide the way
Embracing contentment until the end
Sometimes loneliness is suffocating
Patience runs out
Faith is nowhere to be found
And contentment seems a fairy tale
Wondering on and off
On all I know
Doubting anything
Suspicious of everything
Breathing in and out
Reconnecting with the self
Acknowledging who I am
Displaced…
Learning…
Growing…
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 3:32 AM UTC
The Lion and the Warthog
A lion fierce, and proud, and cruel
Once led the largest pride.
They hunted well, starvation scarce,
The fear spread far and wide.
A warthog aged with years and fears,
Knew something must be done.
This hunter, killer, must be stopped,
So a clever plan he spun.
The warthog saw the lion pride
Hunting flocks of sheep.
"I bet you can't cross River Wide
With just one solid leap."
The lion swelled with pride and roared,
"You speak a foolish lie!"
He'd never done it once before,
But he'd been challenged; he must try.
Said warthog, "If you cross it now,
I'll let you eat me whole.
But if I cross without a scratch,
Here you'll hunt no other soul."
The lion leaped for River Wide,
And splashed into the waves.
He climbed back up and dried himself,
His pride, he could not save.
The warthog's turn had come at last;
He pushed a broken tree.
It fell across the River Wide,
He walked across with glee.
"There, you see, you'll hunt no more;
Your pride has you in bind.
It's brave to leap the River Wide,
But braver yet to use your mind."
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 4:13 PM UTC
Anna entered the room like a butterfly, gossamer to all.
Her face told a different story. One of sadness and hurt.
She wore only the finest silks and seamed cuban stockings.
All eyes latched upon her and followed every step. But no real man ever approached her.
No saviour could get near.
She wore none of her finery, the choice all his.
A trophy bride,
sold like raw meat in her childhood.
It was normal in her village, her adolescence stolen from her.
Anna's delicate neck held an overbearing sapphire necklace. It was overkill in every way.
All for show, all chosen by him, all for him.
He entered with his cronies as though owning the club.
The way he thought he owned her.
Thought indeed, for there is always a price in ownership.
Hours past champagne and fake laughter abounded.
Then she stood up.
Immediately challenged!
She wished to go and powder her nose.
Naturally escorted, god forbid she made outside contact.
But she was not watched within. Minutes passed then... The scream.
She had left, Anna had escaped him.
The anger on his face !
He had no control, lost face in front of them all.
For Anna, oh beautiful Anna lay sylph like wrapped like a cloud in her white dress, its silk floating in a pool of her life blood.
She had left, she was free.
Now her face was different, white, ashen but at peace.
Free..
Anna had left.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
complexity
is your beauty
simplicity
your mystery
interdependence
sustains you
once upon a time
we dipped bowls
into your waters
and brought up
draughts of life
now
Skipjacks go
fathoms deep
into endless
depletion
charting
entangled
dead zones
broadening
into a sea of
inertness
your delicate
eco-essence tips
toward oblivion
effluvia farmers
layer mechanized
blankets of
nitrates on your
sunset shores
weaving
green tendrils
of algae blooms
strangling the
entanglements
of all links in
your miraculous
food chain
the EPA
proscribes
a Jenny Craig
pollution diet
to halt the
slaughter in
oxygen
challenged
dead zones
where rockfish
are garroted,
oysters get drilled
by screwworms
and azure tinted
soft shell *****
dance soft
shoe taps
lifting a tinny
chorus of sad
Piedmont Blues
the flat-lining
watersheds
voiceless
warnings
tremble
rocking the
purged nests of
screaming ospreys
in vocal protest
of a sinking
Tangier Isle
anointing it’s
tombstones
of unvisited
cemeteries with
multicolored
guano
fitting
alkaline
tributes
to the lost
inhabitants
and forgotten
languages
sinking into the
brine of gray
brackish tides
Delmarva’s fine
intra-continental
balance skewed
by the oozing
industrial swill
of Frank Perdue
chicken farms
ruling the roost of
sanctioned sustainability
tinging clear watersheds
of finger lakes
set in splints to
repair dislocations
and complex
compound fractures
that may never heal
again
Music Selection:
Taj Mahal: Fishin Blues
jbm
Oakland
6/7/12
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC