"dismayed" poems
Elated to see you aloft in the night sky
To what do I owe this enchanted boon.
In the merry company of winking stars,
Enthralled by this sight as I admire my moon.
Bathe me in your streaks of translucent silver.
Accompany me through my sleepless nights.
Watching over me with unwavering vigil.
Swathe me in whispers of peaceful respite.
Oh how you govern the raging tides of my soul.
Rest your gaze as the waters break upon my shore...
Erode and weaken the load strewn over my burning shoals,
Sands drowned breathless but craving for more.
Few nights now... Smitten as you coyly turn away.
Thick strands of shadow clad hair in gentle cascades,
Alluringly obscuring a slight fraction of your face.
A tiny crescent blanketed away; into the blackness it fades.
More nights pass... Now I see only a lesser moon
Leaving me with only half; darkness so had claimed.
Please make yourself last; you mustn't leave too soon,
I'm not ready to be left crippled and maimed.
I silently look up as more nights go by.
I watched my lunar love dissolving into space.
My heart too, torn away a morsel at a time...
Finally she had gone; without a sliver or a trace.
Every nightfall since is rife with emptiness and despair.
I asked the stars if they could soothe my gaping void...
But they'd only twinkle in indifference...
Regardless of the pleas I've employed.
Unsure of how many rises it has thus been.
Nights only brought the onslaught of mocking stars above.
Still I toy with the promises made overhead,
For the awaited return of my crazed elusive love.
I know it's frivolous to think I'm the only one...
There are others who pine just as I do.
But I yearn the most for your sought after attention,
For our hearts have sung in every colour and every hue.
Anxiety at peak, dismayed almost broken,
Then I hear a sweet song sung; distant and far.
A song that shared the words we once had spoken,
Again enveloped in translucent silver, with relief I sighed...,
"There you are..."
.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
There’s no other choice but to wear them,
The drawer offered nothing but these.
An odd pair of socks might be quirky,
Odd sizes don’t normally please.
The one at my ankle was spotted,
The other was striped to the knee
The latter two sizes the smaller,
The former quite large by degree.
This mismatch I thought to keep secret
And cover the dissonant pair.
I chose from the wardrobe some trousers
And shoes, with considerable care.
My ruse would conceal the divergence
From prescribed social standards of dress
And none would be any the wiser
My discomfort I’d have to suppress.
Now, it’s harder to mask discomposure
When physical pain has attacked.
The small sock had cramped my toes tightly
That blood didn’t flow, was a fact.
My colleagues regarded me strangely
For they could see nothing amiss
But I could feel cold perspiration,
Anxiety I couldn’t dismiss.
It was then that I felt a strange itching,
The striped sock began to descend
And round my right ankle it wrinkled
And bulged at the trouser leg end.
Dismayed at my great consternation
But clueless to what was awry
My friends made comforting gestures
Need of which I could only deny.
The moral of this story’s transparent
Socks are always best worn as a pair
Their nature is in the relationship
Which provides a well-balanced air.
And take the trouble to remember
Be congruent in all that you do
For disparity will often bring discord
And that path, you’ll certainly rue.
Oct 11, 2009
Oct 11, 2009 at 6:43 AM UTC
People whom take pictures called "selfies"
are too easily dismayed.
A person who has true humility
wants not their image displayed.
Someone who has to put themselves
out into the world,
across the screaming gulf of the internet
really makes me want to hurl.
A true person with humility,
humbleness and jest.
Let's someone to capture their image
unprepared, and not at rest.
A true person's form
comes not from a mirror pic
but from friends and their smiles
preferably not when they're shick.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
MY LONG TREK ON WRONG LEGS, BEG DYNAMITE FROM HUSH DUDS
DAMP CANNONS BILLOW IN THE EAST WIND, LIKE FLACCID DRAGONS
GAGGING ON IRON APPLES
I SURGE IMPOTENT IN MY WRATH, SUNBATHING BY AFTERGLOW
HEROICALLY CONTAINED.
DISMANTLED...
I CRAFT THE WITHERING OF MY FURY
WITH A STEADY HAND; AND A JADED HEART
STARK BLIGHT, DRAINS MY CUP OF THUNDER, WHERE MY LIGHTNING CLOTS
WHERE SOLID DARK
HARKENS
MY YELLOW SUN HARDENS; LIKE AN UNSTRUCK COIN
BLANK IN MY POCKET
SHARDS OF DULL ACHE... UNSHARPEN
MY RED SEA
DEPARTS
MY KELP BEDS
DISMAYED.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
Spectrous aberrations of youth
Surround him, embrace him
Leaving him disoriented, dismayed
Amidst sultry belongings
He’s tethered to that pole of vicissitude
Draped by disfavor
Postmarked Valhalla
Addressed to Folkvangr
Teased by irreverent lovers
In pursuit of contentment
His chronicles restart
In an unpublished testament
Bound by leather, cows unfettered
One lifeless body stationary
Crimson streams part chalk-dry lips
As love’s guillotined victim drips
His future’s fortune forsaken
Willingness to triumph in battle
Leaks from this dimension
With each fluxing discharge
Of her stream’s outgoing apathy
And his fluid permeates alluvium
In streambeds near life’s summit
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 11:12 PM UTC
Shoulder to shoulder you bands of brothers landed.
Code name Operation Neptune was underway.
You noble breed, not knowing what lay ahead
Just knowing that your duty was called upon.
The bugle sounded, you all answered the call
nobly you waded those waters for all.
06/06/1944 was the day.
The largest seaborne invasion in history.
Yet, you brothers in arms were not caring of history making
Just making it to the beach, alive.
I can but humbly thank you for what you all did that day,
you that lived and those that died.
What thoughts must have played in your mind.
A lone piper played throughout, what courage you all displayed.
No wonder we that came after you, leave you feeling dismayed.
Many wars have been fought since, their courage is also undenied,
but, you, you thousands on those beaches showed the world the meaning
of pride, respect and warrior.
On the beaches of Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno and Sword,
you carved a way in. To end the war.
Nobler people I doubt exist, and soon this 70th anniversary
will fade in time, but not that date of June the sixth (1944)
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
Probe me antagonists,
For I am no longer afraid-
Of your shunning or your lynching,
Or stoning, or blade.
You all stare with luscious eyes,
Jealous, cruel-fiends.
Malicious and vindictive,
Hating by all means.
Under the sheets-
Gasping beyond belief,
You kick me,
I can not breath.
No longer am I easy,
No longer tease to please.
Sick with rage and frustration,
Consumed like a disease.
I know when you lie to me,
The only question is why?
Who said you could judge?
Who made you GOD when they died?
Stare at me, look into my eyes!
Oh how I trusted you and you made me cry!
Let down, alone
I crumble by his side.
Running from reality, he holds me at night.
When silent sobs seep from inside.
I wanna scream, but instead I hide.
And sedate myself from your hellish wealth,
And your perfect life,
And your easy ride.
I'm alone and I'm fine.
I do not need you to pry.
Or to pity me as I die.
Twisted and dismayed;
I am ****** but definitely unafraid.
Foolish and used,
Ill live to see another day.
And the pain you caused will finally fade.
And the love we knew will be replaced.
I'm moving on and out of place.
I don't need you, or your approving face.
And all of its grace.
Your drama and chilling pace-
Graphic and slow, savor the chase.
God what a waste.
People just love to hate.
'Round and 'round,
Stuck in their rut of a mental state.
Dyeing, hell-bent on leaving a trace,
On hurting and watching me break.
Karma neither is predictable,
Nor is it fast.
One day you'll bear the burden
And the pain of an outcast.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 2:35 PM UTC
Pushing a key oh how it brings me glee;
Content even happy in simple existence;
Many may not want to be just like me,
For a dry dreary job takes a work of persistence,
But each button I press is a step to success.
Merely a man without a choice,
Only a puppet with no voice
As I wait for direction with keen apprehension;
I stare at the screen first perplexed then distraught;
I see no coworkers it fills me with tension;
What was that? Was it just a thought?
A voice in my head, now it fills me with dread.
He must choose to make a choice,
To give his mouth a voice
“Stanley,” says he, “walked out his office”;
‘Stanley’ is that honestly my own name?
This voice I don’t trust, I will be very cautious;
I shut my closed door so all will stay the same;
The voice has not parted, I’m back where I started;
How?
The end is never the end is never the end
“Stanley,” says he, “walked out his office”;
Shall I play with him in his own little game?
My other decision was not quite that flawless;
I walk outside and am filled with no shame;
“Rejoice, you’ve made the one right choice”.
Now he’s a man in a world of choice,
The one employee that has a voice
I come to two doors and feel a great sensation;
“Walk through the door that's to your left”
What should I think of his clear calm narration?
I walk to the left, trying to be quite deft;
“You must not try to be uncouth, my words they simply speak the truth”.
Does he really have a choice?
Are the words his own real voice?
The constant dictation is no consolation;
I am led into a secret new door;
What I now see is a mind control station
But how do I know what is real anymore?
Does this place control me, or the voice within me?
This is the chance to make a choice,
His opportunity to put forth a voice
"Will you close down the station boy?
"Or put its full force into motion?
What choice do I have but to follow the story?
'Mind control', I'm dismayed at the notion;
I think I heard the voice inside me just scoff,
I turn the station off.
Only a character in a fixed plot line,
He does not see a contrasting sign
Now I am free but it brings me no glee;
Maybe I should have put up some resistance;
Merely existing means nothing to me;
I must now question my unclear subsistence;
The voice has not parted, I'm back where I started.
A man with a choice,
He has a voice
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Forever neglected
Forever dismayed
Forever deafened
By the cacophony of the trade
The antiquated digger stands by
A sentient guard of the worker
It watches as the tree slowly dissipates
Its life slowly crumbling
As the voracious chipper
Devours the tree whole
The worker stands by
The digger stands by
The chipper chips away
The taciturn worker remains
Ruminating the existence of the world.
Why was he put here?
For what reason must he stay with these hallowed construction tools?
Do they feel any remorse for the change that they've enacted
On the world around them?
Are they aware that they transgress the laws of nature?
The bellicose chipper
Wages war with nature
As the people watch so distantly.
Its sound makes the neighbors quite belligerent
Yet the zealots watch attentively.
The pure ignorance
The pure neglect
The blatant apathy
Is something to be seen.
Whatever could possess you
To follow in the footsteps of the worker
To feel his pain as the trimmer
Chips away at the trees' centuries
The sound of shattered glass
Punctuates the air.
Perhaps there has been an accident.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
I feel so betrayed by the person you have become.
In the beginning you loved me, now you just call me dumb.
Our conversations and calls have become father apart,
It is only a matter of time before you shatter my heart.
Inconsistencies and lies get harder to hear.
Wishing my blurry brain would soon become clear.
I cry and cry almost everyday,
I would give anything to take all of this pain away.
There are people that are crying, dying, and dismayed.
And all I have is someone who I once loved digging my grave.
Aug 13, 2023
Aug 13, 2023 at 7:10 PM UTC
Must we apply Glue on the Negative
When the Photo was meant to bring Good Thoughts?
She was with you; And on the Positive
Her Smile was the Change she had long since brought
It wasn't much to sulk on Uncle Gus
When many Witnesses saw you on Ice
Her Face also appeared; In excitement, must
Try to fit her Visiting Heart for size
How did I know this? With all Windows displayed
And most Unregistered Tributes recorded
My Laughter sincere; And Monsters dismayed
That no Finger can keep you Separated.
Indeed, my Elder Instinct will adjourn
The Sober Similes I must re-learn.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
Sometimes...
History gets written
on lazy weekend afternoons
with mounting passions
dripping sweat
and throbbing pulses.
The first sight of you
and confusion set in
Was it the sight of raindrops
glistening on your naked back
or the sunrays deflecting
from your bare skin...
I didn't want to find out
I cared not
for all of a sudden
I found my palms sweating
aching to feel your
all consuming wet embrace
Was I blushing furiously ?
Could you read my thoughts ?
Was the ferocity of my thoughts so obvious?
Suddenly I no longer cared...
I wanted you to know
I wanted my brazenness to
spill over your naked soul
I wanted my desires
to embrace your
sensuous breaths.
Such chemistry as this
could only be mutual...
My steps no longer hesitant
I rushed to you
my eager fingers
caressing your bare back
I could feel my pleasure
as I mounted you
Then with a sinking heart
I suddenly realized...
this was an affair not meant to be
I would never be able to
taste ecstasy's unparalleled heights
This was it...
I could feel my frustration
as it hit me all
of a sudden those
...frenzied heights
could never be mine...
I would have to
hire a chauffeur at the earliest...
and watch with dismayed heart
...as a new affair unfolds
before my very eyes !!!
( Oh !God !When would I ever learn to drive ???)
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 11:36 PM UTC
Distressed, Dismayed
Disturbed, Disdain
Distant, Feeling Disconnected
Worlds Dislocated
Disgruntled, Disorganized,
Dismayed, Drained
Disarray Abounds
Dispersed into Nothingness
Dead, Ditto, Ditto
of Dance, Delight and Dreams
At the passing of my beloved
Death Draws Me In...
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 5:43 AM UTC
There’s a battle raging through my head,
So much that it knocked me off my bed.
There’s a war raging through the thoughts;
Diverse and dismayed neither I can sort.
Haste is the time that spent wasting
Entertained by such pacifistic maiming.
Ideating the norm and realizing the storm
had just started as I shut the squirm.
Conscience speaks the threat at hand,
the head does not agree the time it spanned.
Where there are more things on heaven and earth;
there are more dreadforth than my brain sports.
The enemy lurks the darkness in me,
passing by the realm of my inability.
I had to open eyes wide to invite the Light
while at the same time shut from plain sight.
Recall the Words spoken to me,
realize there is much for me to see.
The villain emerge from the dark of the moon -
the cerebral crater dormant from the day’s form
“You – are not – real.
You are just a figment;
an imagination, a fantasy,
one that I let you haunt me.”
The One I know died for,
Lived and loved me through the core.
Lies no longer seem redemptive nor elegant nor sped;
Flee not the grace and flee the grave though instead.
Jolt to wake myself up,
admonition that all along I was held at a stop.
The battle becomes the sleep yet decided;
settled more for the Love had invited.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
there was once a man who lived
in burnt rocky hills
village farmer frail and tilt
humble down to strips
and one day his wife fell sick
he took her in his hands
but in path for miles thick
one huge hill did stand
he knew but closest path to town
would take whole day on foot
if it weren't this hill around
get there sooner he could
even though he tried his best
kept his faith alive
yet he failed the time's test
could not save his wife
abruptly in his mind
did one thought arise
through conflicting reasons
to himself he surmised
"there'll always be dreams to live
tears to wipe, things to moan
to witness coiling stillness give
reason to your lonesome tone"
with this thought himself he backed
and let go of his fears
whom neither Gods could distract
he faced the mountain near
a modest hammer in hand
not for once dismayed
unfazed by its candid stand
he stood not once afraid
"for he was just some lunatic
who sold his goats for a chisel
for no man can do such trick
surely its all such drivel"
inch by inch he chipped away
just one stroke a time
when scorching sun endowed the day
heat fueled up his mind
seasons came and seasons went
men who mocked him too
turned to dust who crossed his way
yet he went going through
long before his life would cease
two decades marked his trial
all in sweat on forehead crease
and scratched on time's dial
and then arrived this moment
it surely had to come
for in pools of anguish spent
lilies of faith bear from
speak your will and do your speak
says the farmer's life
say you're strong when you feel weak
marching through your strife
for no paths does life forbid
it takes no account
keep on moving as he did
man who moved the mount
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
I am the Lorax, who once spoke for the trees
In the hope of bringing progress to its knees
But now I have grown somewhat older and tired,
My outlook and thought process being rewired
(Sometimes to see forest, you must clear the trees.)
Examine the case of the Brown Bar-ba-loots
Whose interests for so long I worked in cahoots.
Could such timid beasts truly thrive in the wild
So innocent, trusting, submissive, and mild?
(My former assertions I strongly refute.)
Why, see how they frolic and scamper in zoos;
How can one watch them and steadfastly refuse
To see how much better their lot is today
As joy for our children as opposed to prey
(A happy condition where no one can lose.)
Ah, scoff the nihilists, *but Truffula Trees,
Those havens for birds and those homes for the bees.
Why, what do you say now that they are all gone,
Removed to make way for some suburban lawn?*
(These angry young men—O Lord, take them all please!)
I gently remind them it’s just nature’s way,
That some species go while other ones stay,
The carrier pigeon’s no longer alive
Yet somehow we manage to live—indeed, thrive!
(In the face of brute logic, they’ve little to say.)
So don’t be dismayed or frightened or leery
Of doomsday projections outlined by theory
Suggesting that our time on this earth may be done;
Consider the caged Bar-ba-loot having fun
(And we hear fish do quite well in Lake Erie.)
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC
Two trees they stood far apart
Across the waves of grass.
And although these trees grew apart
The two became friends fast.
Until two men had decided
That there must be a line
And these trees should be divided
Would happen to be fine.
Eventually, arose a wall
And the men were content
The trees could not be seen at all
Pleased with good effort spent.
The years passed by and time went on
The two men aged and died.
But the two trees remained fond
And every fall they cried
Meanwhile the trees grew and grew
Spreading out their branches
When one day there came something new
And what were the chances?
That pollen drifted from the tree
And came to the other
Caressed it in the warm spring breeze
Like an eager lover.
In the summer a tiny sprout
Had grown near to the wall
Each day it grew more stout
But it neglected to grow more tall.
The days and weeks and months passed by
Until the tree grew strong
And all three trees were intertwined
Where all of them belonged.
The great wall crumbled, then it fell
Just as the three trees swayed.
All three let out a joyful yell
As none there were dismayed
But time passes as per always
And winter came at last
The two trees passed into a phase
Where neither tree could last.
But the youngest one did not fall
Instead it grew *****
By far the greatest of them all
But doesn't love have that effect?
And then one day a tree did grow
A place along the way.
So graceful did her branches flow
Always ready to play.
Two trees they stood far apart
Across the waves of grass;
And although these trees grew apart
The two became friends fast.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
God ******
mercenaries
vipers
hypocrites
The Lamb of God
sold into the marketplace
led into the slaughter
The Love and Heart of God
now a harlot
for the desires and pleasures of perverse men
--honestly, I have more respect for a Lady of the Night, than religious ****** who traffic in holiness
The Spirit of God
miracles transformed
into entertainment and to rake in filthy lucre
The Banner of God
leads an army of hate
The Pastor of God
exiles a member of Christ’s body
The sacred Writings of God
twisted into a message of
judgement, guilt, intolerance
I am dismayed
disturbed
disappointed
disgusted
… I have seen too much
The Heart of God bleeds, tears fall from His eyes
How long will this go on?
Is there vengeance and a special place of punishment reserved for those who commit such travesty?
For those who trample on the Blood of the Savior?
--Serge Banderet
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 3:48 AM UTC
The carpenter sits in his rocking chair as he thinks,
as the sun drowns itself into the dark clouds, he waits.
Waiting for something to tell him that he is no longer a boy anymore,
that his maturity and humility have been masqueraded
Into a body that resembles him.
Every night, when he eats, he sits alone
His plate as round as the moon,
He lights one candle on his dinner table.
Most nights, when he is drinking heavily,
he walks to the back of his house,
sits in front of an old wooden bench,
gazing across the lake and he picks up a book,
construing ideas and proposals that he fails to recollect the morning after.
He reads poems to himself, poems from books.
Poems about the nature and history of the human condition,
about the muscles and the tendons in our bodies
that bend and crumble and shiver at our disposal.
Bottle in his left hand, book in his right.
And sometimes he switches hands to highlight his drunken dexterity.
Clinching his book of poems as if they were his children,
too afraid to go out into the soft fear of the electric night,
and he was the wild one to present to this world.
He feels abandoned, dismayed,
and he no longer sees a light at the end this tunnel,
like someone or something is closing it,
leaving a crevice wide enough just to test and to tease
his willing and purpose to escape from it.
He feels a burning in his chest
as he trickles down the last drip of scotch onto his lips,
tasting death like it was tapwater.
It's midnight and he has to wake up in six hours,
wake up to a routine where his work becomes unnoticed
because he doesn't have the ***** to stand up for himself.
So, he sits and he waits for something to happen,
something fantastic or supernatural to help him grow wings
so he could relieve the tension on his shoulders,
his bones realigned to fit the being of gods.
He closes the book, walks back to his house
and blows his one candle at the dinner table,
blackening the room to fit the clouds of the night.
He lies in his bed as he engulfs his body with his comforter,
hoping to never wake up in a world that will not hesitate to laugh in his face.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 9:28 PM UTC
Sweeten, let’s, a coast of dun
Therefrom which, the tides erode,
A castle to blind the mighty sun
Affront to that Poseidon, and others
On the beach.
***** the walls and battlements
Fair crystal arm the turrets
The audience of the hermit *****
Pay silent homage to the throne
Intricate are its libraries, etched
Our history inside the tomes.
Only grains of perfect stock
From which antiquity, in full credit,
Will revere the lot
And poetry of human might
Shaped and forged to kiss the day of light
Only that may suffice.
In this endeavor, no ancients will tenet
Its salty beams but the children of the morn
For we shall build the universe
From when progenitors are born.
Before it began, we were dismayed
Our future, castle, by waves waylaid
Aspirations sink, now, from shape.
But, Gods, I curse you!
Let my destiny rise free!
Look now before you:
A stone in ocean of mediocrity!
All these that build up forts
Lack in that spirit to fight, retort
**** you, **** you, waters of my doubt
Turn false the shades of realism
Which I thought it all about
**** you, **** you sands of time
For now all that founds my dreams
Is erosion of the shoreline sand.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
I know a bit about
*learning to dance in the rain
like nobody is watching*
but...
I know way more about
dancing like a *****
in the kitchen
despite the warden
standing aghast
eating up his own
billowy firebreath
soliloquy reprimands
I earbud block
shimmy, pivot and pop
raising vibration tornado
toss it a flippant middle
and cheeky smile
without breaking stride
devil dismayed
lips keep on syncing
as if I can hear demeaning
demonic procession
but I already know
what he’s saying
*stop dancing like that
in front of our son*
you mean…
to the beat of my own pulse
shaking divine creation
diffusing rainbow throes
undulating radiant orbitals
all for my own blissing?
one day that boy
will be a man
who knows
better
than to ever
call a goddess
a ***** in the kitchen
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
O fair Helena descending-
How could you not look at me?
You were once Narcissus in the meadow;
Kissing the soil-
Blooming with lavenders-
Basking in the afternoon sun-
Where did all your sunshine go?
Your blurry reflection-
of somberness;
heavy eyes;
calloused hands;
disheveled hair;
timid air-
Dismayed the goddess in you.
Faded golden lyre;
Withered Pierian roses;
Crushed altar of flame;
Mortal madness!
Ascend back to the divines-
Depart from this mortal coil;
Be the Narcissus in the meadow.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 11:35 PM UTC
The decaying mansions of English language
Rot and recede
into teenage grasses
with each unspoken year
The hired help have left their hair unmown and surrendered their uniform dress
Content with the neglect of nature
taking its timely course
When the architects and master masons of linguistics
Survey their forgotten plans in the heaven of English literature
They are not dismayed
but patiently sit and sit
The pristine edifices of the classics
Once grand and clad in deferential brick
Stand scaffolded and unread
The doors unlocked, ajar and hopelessly inviting
Into the library of the English canon
The dusty cloak on the carpets of grammar
Sheets thrown over the disused armchairs of archaic words
Echoing the plink of the out-of-tune pianoforte of the perfectly crafted short story
Bathrooms of formal poetry
With the rusty plumbing of metre and rhyme
Whereas the temporary outhouses,
hastily arranged huts of slang and idiom
are adorned by the living grasses of new forms,
creepers of half remembered dreams
mulching leaves of half formed thoughts
forests of half forgotten loves
writhing in living incompleteness
Which will in turn harden and fossilize
And we can then rue the passing of our once organic lingo
Dec 14, 2009
Dec 14, 2009 at 10:18 AM UTC
Black Texas dirt
With Grandfather Trees
That the sun shines through
In dust moted streaks…and
Ponds and Creeks
That
I use stones
To cross with
Big
Sometimes slippery
Gray stones…
Covered in moss… with
Bluebonnets
Sharing space with frogs
And trailing ivy
And bee hives in logs
And butterflies
That flutter by
And vie
For attention
With hungry hummingbirds
And COUNTRY Mockingbirds
That can’t DO
Car alarm…
Perhaps a summer cabin
Or even
Working farm
House
With wrap-around porch
Flanked by Four O’Clocks
Shielded by Climbing Roses
Guarded by Morning Glories
Shading two big dogs
With cold wet noses
Pressed to my face
That wake me
And shake me
Back to this reality…
Which is oh so far from
My mind’s dream place
And I’m somewhat dismayed…
But it’s still okay…
Cuz there’s
Nothing wrong with dreaming…
Nothing wrong with dreaming…
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 8:09 AM UTC
My heart is so heavy over losing you
I have not been able to make sense of this
I just know that this is all wrong
My existence craves you like no other, and to think I might have lost you
Is grievous
I am completely and utterly lost
I am open bare as each day passes and with you I have lose myself whole
I am filled with insurmountable grief
Over you…over us
I clutch to my very bed you stray so far away from
I have woken up dismayed
plagued by homesickness in my very home
I am turning on myself over the loss of you
My heart is no longer my own
Appalled and vengeful over my soul
Every beat of my heart belongs to you as if you were the very essence that gives life to my being
My heart is with you
In your name, blazing full of you
And I too, my love
Oct 2, 2023
Oct 2, 2023 at 10:33 PM UTC