"chronicled" poems
***A kiss evokes eloquent poetry
Each line recited in harmony
It’s a silent symphony of souls
Feelings sway in an ecstatic stupor
A new world becomes a reality
Where just two souls find abode
A poetry chronicled by the confluence
It’s a masterpiece***
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
Those memorable days have long been forgotten
Haunting those stairways, we climb
Convincing wondrous places of mystery again
To stare into the ribbons of time
Yesterday’s chapters of dreamy faraway passages
Leading to rooms filled with slivers of light
Dance nimbly across pages of spatial vantages
Disappearing on the edges of night
A rumbling of recollection drifts into our flesh
Striking chords of chronicled accounts
Felt in the heartbeat of time we have meshed
Into our souls for a reminiscent recount
Forgotten no longer, remembered once more
Heartwood regaining its core
Blooming within those stairways, we store
Those memories, of days of yore
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 8:25 PM UTC
The humble diary
Holds the words
Usually not revealed
To the world
Lines, filled with
Deepest desires
Inexplicably, not uttered
But freely flows
Without inhibitions
Every drop of ink
Is the messenger
Carrying the messages
Encrypted for secrecy
A part of your world
Comes alive
Between the pages
Each day
Offered a blank page
New anecdote
Chronicled eagerly
Before the words
Fade away from memory
Jogging along the lines
Of the diary
The pen gives you a lease
To express
Some feelings and desires
Not audible to anyone
But finds safe haven
Between the pages
Of the humble diary
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
**Anything that stirs life is alive;
therefore art is alive
It moves and perturbs humans
since time immemorial
Revolutions, wars and madness even
were chronicled in art
History bore witness as art
metamorphosed lives, ideas and
Eventually the world
Art is a living entity
it has kept us alive
And breathed into us our
imperfections so human
They are as timeless as Bach, Dostoyevsky or Picasso**
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
The blank pages
Invite the poetic wanderer
With a wanderlust heart
Visiting undisclosed locations
In search of rare experiences
Roaming the edges of known
Where the real adventure is
Gathering some rare pieces
Strewn here and there
Not oblivious to poetic eyes
Allure of the blank pages
Is difficult to ignore
For all the adventures
Of the wanderlust heart
Waiting to be chronicled
Sore feet and tired soul
Heals when the muse smiles
After all the secret journeys
Poetic heart will return to
The blank pages
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
The cryptic missive
Written in ink ancient
Eloquent quill scribbles
Old English vocabulary
Unfamiliar etymology
Unknown writer
Chronicled messages unclear
For whom, none known
Yet to be deciphered
Papyrus survived
And words of yesteryear
On a time travel to future
Wonder, if anyone had read
Back in olden times
Or, was it a prophecy
For the future to unravel
A seer with vision
To foresee the future
Should we be forewarned?
Lest the truth was known
And we are living a lie
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
So many feelings comes surging
Breaking all the inhibitions
Every word cocooning those moments
Each of them a luminous sparkle of the soul
Flowing through the veins
Reminding you of the special moments
Waiting to be chronicled as a memoir
Taking up the pen
Connecting your soul with the paper
Every drop of ink carrying your inner world
Drawing a vivid sketch of your feelings
Wholeheartedly soaked in the ambiance
The white paper now colored with memories
Once staring at the blankness
You can see the words dancing to your tune
Pen moves like a magic wand
As you breathe life on the paper
With those precious feelings
Swathing it with your inner luminosity
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
All these years I thought this was a sort of coping mechanism, a sort of way to stop myself from peeling my skin off to try to scream at it to listen. A way to keep me contained.
My words knew better than I.
When I couldn't keep my thoughts straight, my lyrical ramblings were putting away chronicles that would eventually be a bread trail to understand the world inside my head. To understand the little girl locked behind bars and being told she is a Jabberwocky. My little, trapped, fearful, left behind, bipolar girl.
Things seem so much clearer now. I haven't felt so unclouded and intelligent in years, but suddenly the paths in front of me seem so much easier than they used to be. The poisonous fog over my life has lifted and I can see the monster I was stabbing at was truly just me.
I just couldn't see that then.
I have my writing to thank for everything. I have to thank it for everything. It is the one entity in my life that has been constant and loving and keeping me human. Alive, even.
It is the music of my soul, and it amazes me every day how deeply I love it, and it loves me. I wrote an entire piece two years ago about my love for writing and how it has always stayed by me, uncertain of its love for me. Writing loves so many people, and I am just a grain of sand in writing's life. But lately I've been feeling that even a grain of sand can matter so much. I mean, Dickens and King and Miller and Lee were only grains of sand and look how much they did?
It feels stupid and forced of me to get all motivational speech here after the chronicled years of confused sufferings and endless, unsure ramblings. I'm not going to sit here and talk about how I see the light and I know the way suddenly, and my life is fixed.
My life will never be fixed. But in an imperfect world, where nothing every truly is fixed, it seems the wading through the waters is pleasant when you do what works best for you.
What I will say, though, is that my life is finally, after years of uncertainty, one hundred percent my life, just as it should be.
I'm bipolar, it'll always make my life interesting and different than everyone else's. But if I can try to keep my life overall happy and have writing in it and feel strong and loved and brilliant, and I think for once I'll be fine.
Funny that I think this is the first time I promised that in a poem and truly believed it. Not just the moment, not just next week.
I think from now on, I can be fine.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
Content in a cornered part of the far reaches of France
Where the gypsies naked prance and hastily dance
Stars shine down on the groups of merry peasants
Who talk love tell and pluck soon to be dead pheasants
Here the children tell of monsters mixed to death with lore
Milk pours from every cow and food grows more and more
Rocks forget themselves underneath a bubbling river bed
No one cries for here no one is beckoned to the river of the dead
Illusions fortify their eyes and their beating red hearts
Cars are parked for the horses as their only means to start
On adventures to moon lit mortuaries candle lit dinner parties
Dancing with ghosts sporting their finest being quite flirty
I envisioned myself beneath the elm tree reading and writing
Listening to no sounds of husband and wife fighting
Some may call this place eden heaven or even impossible
But I see it as a world hopeful to soon be chronicled
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 3:45 PM UTC
Our life
Chronicled by simple drawings on a page
You are the artist
I am the dreamer
And together
The world is ours to explore
So ride with me
On a paper plane
Until the wind dies down
And we are forced to land
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
The World's Times chronicled
Crusades and Fatawas,
Jihads and Inquisitions,
Coups and Genocides.
Such resourcefulness
The Construct.
Another Cathedral rises
In a destitute country.
Do-able
We're told
From the leader's lips
We'll always have the poor.
Uh huh! The poor!
That's what was said.
We can always put them to work,
And there won't always be work.
They'll need membership cards,
And birthings and burials,
Like always.
See the pyramids along the Nile
You get up every morning from your alarm clock's warning
Another temple
Will grow from
Rice paddies;
A synagogue,
A mosque will
Cinch tiles
On the backs of peasants.
I've had enough
Laundering by recluse
Single mothers,
By crooks posing as shepherds,
And Holy Wars
*so oxymoronic
cleanses too*
Any Divines
Benefitting from
Our labour and wages;
Our drachma, denarius and shegel,
Aren't worth the worship.
Yet the lenders are good
At getting their pound.
*Don't drop a coin
In a wishing well,
Pay cash for a mass
Where they'll ring your bell.
Choose a charity,
There's so many,
That need a
Pauper's Penny.*
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
*Time wrapped in blanket of eternity
Spectator to so many events diurnally
Chronicled in the roster, every detail
Aware of all the future episodes
Holds the answers to forthcoming trials
Time will decide the outcome of actions
Testimony to history of this celestial body*
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
The assassination of President John F. Kennedy
To many this has always been an unsolved Mystery
JFK was shot in Dallas, Texas on the 22 of November
We are still mourning him, and will always remember
Abraham Zapruder had no idea what he'd be filming
Would be under scrutiny by the public for viewing
Some said the shots came from the grassy knoll
Where they came from no one will ever know
Jackie Kennedy in terrible shock, crawled out onto the limousine
She could not recall doing this, when the Secret Service Intervened
Walter Cronkite reported this shocking news to us in tears
And in all his years of work, he will forever be revered
Jackie in her blood stained suit stood beside Lyndon B. Johnson
When he took the oath of office to be next president of our nation
Oswald told the world that he was a patsy
Jack Ruby shooting him on TV was ghastly
Life Magazine chronicled the events
Filling each page with all JFK contents
To this day there still are reenactments and movies
And everyone like me still feels this is newsworthy
Published in the Crawfordsville, Indiana newspaper Nov. 2024
Copyright 2013
All Rights Reserved
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2017
Am I dating myself
With these words out my mouth?
See, I remember a time
When we flashed the peace sign
And called one another
Sister and brother
Seems we’ve gone sour
On acquiring black power
And black on black crime
Is the new paradigm
When we look in the mirror
It becomes much more clearer
That we hate what we see
Although that shouldn’t be
Remember freedom marches
Before the golden arches
Then ****** entered in
And we start popin’ our skin
Before we shot it straight into our veins
Which probably explains
Why we regressed
Long before the present opioid mess
It was ****** first,
But then it got worst
So let me take you back
To the era of crack
When a nickel or dime
Could trigger a crime
And what really hurt you
Is the women who lost their virtue
But I’m not absolving the men
Who’d engage in all kinds of sin
I remember gangster rap
And how that set the trap
Which brought the stress and strife
From tryna live that gangster life
Then the East Coast West Coast war
That didn’t exist before
Remember when Biggie and Tupac were friends?
Instead of how their story ends
They’ire a classic group today
But I remember when NWA
Used to pull out all stops
When they sang **** the cops
And chronicled their lives
Called their girlfriends and their wives
All kinds of ******* and ******
Then would dance down on all fours
Now let me bring you up to date
Would it be wrong for me to state?
When it was our problem alone
It was the prisons we were shown
There was little sympathy don’t cha see
When it was just you and me
Who said they had a problem
There were few out there to solve ‘em
But opioids are everywhere
And it’s a disease now, so I hear
That crosses all socio-economic lines
Now there are many telltale signs
It’s now called an opioid disorder
Past the inner city border
And the word is harm reduction
Instead of out and out destruction
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
And then, once upon a sultry twilight,
Amidst the ruins of bygones chivalry,
Whence maidens most fair lived in sheer delight;
Free from lustful relics of rivalry...
Until a day came, and a knight was born,
The toast of town once tranquil, now thrilling;
Thence, jealousy stirred up spite as wild thorns,
To ***** wanton urge to crave fulfilling...
Itches unrequited by chevalier
Under whose spell the whole realm pined away
In splendor bedazzling like chandelier
Lovelorn stings strewn damsels in disarray
These conte chronicled that sultry twilight
'Fore splendiferous valour bared as blight
~~~*****~~~
Then later, will come that sultry twilight,
Whence moist lips stained with warmth, those beaks will kiss,
To reverse the spell cast to eclipse light,
Through insidious vipers with hearts unease.
Him, they cooked strange from coven of contempt,
As monstrous man halved into an aves;
Whom none will forever attempt to tempt,
His elixir lost beyond avarice...
Altar possessed by essence most cryptic,
Breathed upon him, sinisterly omen,
Fanned into frenzy most epileptic,
'Pon this bound besieged to efface women.
'Fore that once upon a sultry twilight,
Darkness gnawed all fresh and bones into flight.
~~~*****~~~
And now, once upon this sultry twilight,
That monster they created spoiled the living,
Into desolate and deserted site,
With venoms from fang of unforgiven...
Save for that last damsel left to be stung;
The fairest of them all found from time past;
Apotropaic maid, serene and strong,
Condemned to kiss away that spell once cast.
He aimed to slay, instead her lips he touched...
As curse recoiled, estranged from evil hold,
Till every grouch from within him was hushed
To find the future, lost in past foretold.
And now, once upon that sultry twilight,
He kissed those lips fated to make wrong right...
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 5:29 AM UTC
Tacked onto cosmos,
Soft light,
Eradicating an opposite,
Dreaming life into fruition,
Kibble,
Bring lips
Down, among trenches & arcane
Never rest
Context, infinitesimal in journey,
Nexus at best
A hammer through your letterbox,
Covered in spit,
Listened to through callous hands
Knocking on the complex,
Chamber of advents
And unleashing the deepest, unknown secret
Flattened, stretched Ambrosia,
Content enabled metropolis,
Slowing the progress of atrocity
Into dawning backward birth
Orders in place,
Genus
Chronicled in ordnance,
By gated communities,
Escalating the calamity by force
Embargo transcend,
Glitter on abound, endless
Pardon the boredom
Lapped, lipped, tapped, trusted
Trying to find balance
In amongst leaves,
Leaving Earth
In a ship fueled by discontent
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
She slept still on the cold bed
Her fragile frame was forever fixed
The sullen smile on her frown face
Crowned her earthly end
An emblem of victory gained in demise
The somberness of the ominous knell
Ushered in the undertaker for his task
To amass his masters latest loot
Fallen along the weary long way
A rose bruised before its bloom
The lamentations of the little lass
The groan of the grey gentleman
The solemn sympathy of a stranger
The clergy’s confession of her circumstances
All a label of a life led in liaison
The strongly sealed sepulcher
Bears the remains of her mortality
The epitaph on it concise as her life
A testament of her times to lingering legs
On rock engraved on hearts chronicled forever
The worms that merry on corpses
Shall soon party for their spoil
That skin so tender shall decay
From this world she carried eternal hope
And though she is dead she shall live.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 6:31 AM UTC
I've been telling stories for years
Grand tales of sordid escapades
From many a reckless night
Even the fiction has kernels of truth
At the exact nature
A starting point
To weave your senses
Into a colorful tapestry
I've shared with you how I
Watched my mother cover
Up black eyes for
Thirteen years
I told you the truth
Of how I bore witness
To my best friend
Succumb to his sickness
In the cramped bathroom of a bus
Outside Tulsa,Oklahoma
You reveled in my ecstatic joy
As I painstakingly detailed my
Spiritual Awakening through the
Birth of my first child I've
Cried and bled and sweat
And laughed and died
A thousand times and
Chronicled it all
In lyric and harmonious melody
I've exhaled my life
Thousands of times
Across cavernous arenas
I can't move if you don't move me
I think to myself as
I watch the horde of
Zombie radiation blue eyes
From all you tourists
Twinkle back at me
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
Photos in birch bark frames
Cinnamon scented candles
My first thesaurus
Tin soldiers made of chocolate
A jar of cheap face cream
The mad king and the Doctor
And a beleaguered embodiment
Of crawling chronicled chaos
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
Memories and stop signs
This is a moving train
They took it away
Who are you?
And me?
Get out of my head
You know just as well as I do
We don’t belong here
No maps, no ceremonies
We’re replaceable
Headlines and lights out
Starving
Stop asking
They’re going to send you back now
I saw them
Clawing, fighting, scratching
Locked in white now
We’re safe here
Just concentrate
Stabilized, he’s breathing
Where am I?
She’s getting worried now
They could be anywhere
They could be anywhere
That pressure in the chamber
Last reflection of tension
Return to find it
I know we stole something
Scared, counting
Like magnets
They waited together
Spread the disease
Light the message
We don’t have very long
Would you stop me?
Dig a hole, exposed
Tell the story child
She’ll forget, he’s coming
Snow, it was snowing
Bad days
Help me leave it behind
Inscribed, crumble
We all fall down
Chronicled by who
Let’s see where it takes us
Time to wake up
Don’t be angry
I could do this all night
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 7:45 PM UTC
Grandma may you continue resting in peace
Don't wish to wake up coz you will find this world in pieces
Dads are sleeping with their daughters
And mothers are twerking on their sons amid laughters
The grave is comfortable
Since our world has become unsuitable
Men falling in love with males
And their reunion chronicled like tales
The world you left has gone to hell
Their nothing positive in this rotten world to tell
Young girls aborting
High school kids burning and rioting
Mass killing all over the globe
Assasinations without probe
If you resurrect you would wish to die again
This world is run by a slogan of no pain no gain
Immorarity is on rise
And the mortal are doomed to pay the price
Just stay in the grave
This world is no longer for the brave
Technology has taken over
Governents have been thrown over
Blood is flowing in gallons
Convicts are waiting in gallows
Humanity has been compromised
The poor have atrocised
Don't get tired of lying there lifeless
The living are also dead they are life less
Selfish and proud
So hold your horses and stop wishing you were around
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
In Cities in Flight
transformations are chronicled over generations.
It can make us cry
out for the genius occurring
now and in our past. How
the unseen, unknown participant
was made known to himself
through devotion to those outside himself. He
guides his city
into space.
So, the father and the teacher
guide the family and the student
through the close spaces of knowledge
and obligation. And perform
the history that surrounds them.
Good actors and directors,
philosophers and physicists,
soldiers and foresters.
Today
steam rose from the asphalt
because the sun
has arrived in place, powerful, equinoxal
as the human song
that receives it.
Two big deer
Lope cautiously
Off the open road.
Two crows
Fly low
Above the Oswegatchie.
Frank Bassett
forester since '57
marks a stand of maple and black cherry
for selective cutting. His actions today
will be noted
by another forester, also acting alone,
in the 21st century.
New York City
in a froth of creativity
Pacino and Sheen in Julius Caesar,
Sonny Rollins at Town Hall,
films opening, one
that portrays the flamboyant style
and dedication
of a barrio public school teacher.
You cannot act alone.
You must belong
in your heart
to the flight humanity makes in Spring, north
toward wild flowers
in geese chevrons.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
*My feelings
Chronicled on the paper
Lay there for ages
Wanting to get rid of it
I crumpled it
And sacrificed it to the wind
One fine day
I get a reply
Based on my forgotten feelings
The wind delivered it
To the rightful recipient
Sure, words are resilient
They withstood challenges
To make my feelings known
Now, we exchange letters
Waiting to meet someday*
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
Were we in Canterbury come Aprile
After the drought of March
that had pierced down to its root,
And Geoffrey Chaucer chronicled
our pilgrimage of mutual exploration,
what naked tales would the two us tell?
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 5:58 PM UTC
The vast ocean, so calm
A façade of pristine nothingness
Eyes cannot scan the vastness
It engulfs your vision
The salt waters, abode for many
Known and unknown species
Rich with its own heritage
So many tales have been chronicled
Folklore mystifies it with stories
Sea of troubles and possibilities
The bravest have traversed
Facing the fierce predicaments
Relentlessly testing the valiant
So many continents surrounding it
Minuscule landscapes compared to it
Carries so much history
Forever lost in its vast depths
We are yet to reach its depths
And the world that is thriving under
We have lived with it
And yet to decipher
The ocean and its uncharted territory
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC