"reparation" poems
The distant hollow of the high mountain pass
swallows the setting sun as it steals away southbound
behind the coastal mountain's tangerine sunset hued silhouettes
Mulberry plashed shadows pointing northward
across the evergreens outstretched dimming,
beneath the waning fade of each fleeting eventide
Sundown ebbing asunder the wafting daylight,
each gloaming of the day, helplessly a moment sooner past,
transfixed further south beyond yesterday's passing azure
The lazy days of summer escape unbounded,
nomadic as the sea I've seen sail away before;
evanescent as the beauty of the bloom summer days beheld
and the memory of the fragrance they exhale
The nebulous weight of the gravity is consciously denied
by the truths a human heart beholds
A moment’s epiphany afflicts like a rogue wave in a calm sea;
the only thing my heart ever wanted remains out of reach
Everything my heart needs consciously surrendering
to the poignant passing moment's beauty,
the falling sun at distance sets more suddenly now
Lost in the undeniable certainty
life's imminent season's change
Eyes drawn stubbornly from presence to a sky so far away,
knowing there'll be no restitution for the welling sense of loss...
A bitter sweet song mummers in the silence of the absorbing spell,
summer's sun stained pages of watermarked soul scribbles,
time tattooed reparation for the indelible ache
of a harsh grey winter loneliness
Perhaps too familiar, this whelming Déjà vu
that tears my soul; that tugs at these roots
but cannot sever their sacred grasp
But for now, eyes fixed to the sun's
inevitable tightening tether hence —
to wear weary each fraying thread's impending break
Each sunset leans a deeper angle southward
as it slips down through the firwood shadows;
illuminating other faraway latitudes
far beyond the distant horizon skies
The preordained continuum unfolding what will be ...
someone you used to know ... September 11, 2017 ... 7:30 PM
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
Her Name is Woman
~for Woman~
The body replenishes, even the signs of decay
that come for reparation,
Positive confirmation
her organism survives, alive,
tree circles yet measuring time,
Till a devitalizing time comes, when,
this cellular process concedes degeneration
Then the wondering shifts; new facts sifted;
now the reckoning is not a calculation of
Mortality but of her living immortality;
dive to divine neath her black cloaking, reading
Wounded word revelations, her own Bible stories,
giving nomination to Woman-name
The long shadows that her souls excavations cast,
costs of her stories individual,
Highwaymen robbed her with glass knives
but each remaining black hole lights a story, lost, but
Burning icy inviting, pulling us into book boxes inside,
compost of sheets of composed white clarity
Care not that each riddling reference is obliged to be
oblique, inexplicit,
Woman her name, all encompassing,
her views codified in lines of faith,
Woman, is that not
a mining, and a manifest,
of hidden birthing,
comforting us in warm shades of
Human courage
12/26/18 5:51pm
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 5:57 PM UTC
I'm born
Airborne
Forlorn
In war torn
Discord
My ripcord
I pull for liberation
Alienation aviation
Away from a station
Of no relation
Where their elation
Lies in degeneration
The fright fair
Nightmare
In sight there
Is a right scare
But light flares
From an illuminated theater
I dive into art
To fill my meter
I consume
Darkened tomb
Screen in room
Is where I loom
Inspiration blooms
From a sense of doom
My separation reparation
That will lead to veneration
My artistic fervor
Drifted further
Drifter's murmurs
Lifted learners
But gifted murderers
Shifted girders
Of shame and honesty
To my grave of modesty
Where they prey upon me
This plagiarism
Layered schism
Cratered rhythm
Of great decisions
Now I make incisions
With repetition
And the definition
Of words stolen from me
They're all I can see
And I can't get free
Or just let it be
Consumption disruption
At this junction
I can't function
A plagiarist
****** mist
Grips my fist
Makes me wish
I don't exist
I must resist
Before I miss
My chance at bliss
They're ****** me
By aping me
Making me
Shaking trees
Of bumblebees
With rumble pleas
On humble knees
Drinking antifreeze
Nobody cares
What's fair
They bear
And share
Blank stares
Up stairs
Of artistic compromise
Integrity lost in lies
They're not that wise
I hypothesize
My baby
Caught rabies
From Hades
Now ladies
Flock to a thief
Giving me grief
Beyond belief
In my coral reef
Sword in sheath
I drown discreet
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
Once a year its champagne!
I feel calm passionate and teary.
It gets my head to Paris
As life is broken down goes out
in transition or revelation,
there's a greàter darkness then the one we inadvertently fight,
the darkness of the soul
that has lost its way.
I was chosen by great sages crossing paths the sting of my blindfold lingers noone sees hope or their future, or where it leads we know only that it's bought in pain and sacrifice.
Letting go what I loved the most.
was eternal loss, having
no reparation, neither in time,
nor in eternity.
My love river is truth it's mouth is
cosmic creation.
He measured sensuality
secretively, and in shadows
he showed me feathers of half
a man syllhuette of him,
and feels guilty I just fill in blanks,
why smack a devolving face?
And what the heck!
I first measure people in trust.
then love, as true love is rare.
Trust tells love where to roam.
Love can't be made perfect
in distrust nor fear of rivals.
When I give my heart I do,
When I share my dreams too.
I do not drown in midnight
dew not retreat;
but I won't take sand in my eyes.
After the loving I go from rags
to riches in his love or shine
to wiser horizons..
~~~~~~~~~
Mr and Mrs Andrews.
At Karijinbba
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 10:08 PM UTC
Roses are red violets are blue is what I first wrote.
But the hurricane tore it all to shreds.
It stared with the rain that brought upon my pain.
It hurted my heart to hear the cry
How can I ever be trusted when I lied and lied
Lost in my mind...
The heart just wanted to love again.
Hoping to find what was lost just to fall again.
A priceless jewel was K.
I became coated in insecurities.
Running from the rain is what started the hurricane.
I remember the shooting star when I first encounter the rain.
It was different that night, but that was when AK began.
Reparation is what I sought.
Only hoping to heal.
Don’t ever disrespect the Queen of K!
Forgive but don’t forget.
It was called Hurricane AK.
That’s what I said
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 4:16 PM UTC
I await at the bridge of your nose
for you to kiss me.
I await at the nape of your neck
to feel the chills down your spine.
I have become accustomed to lonely,
even by your side.
I await the days to burn away
so loosely and never-ending.
I await for the bruises upon my mind
from trying to run away from my mistakes
to become temporary.
I burn and burn and burn away like those days
and I begin to feel the heat from where I lay.
Loose against the grain-
I am like the gravel amongst your feet
clinging to the soles of your shoes wherever you go
etched into your scraped knee as a child
bleeding and broken skin-
I am like the gravel always fleeting-
always in need of reparation
being made of stone and not just one particular kind
I am forever changing in size and faulting
when the lines become etched with tire tracks
I am the space in-between your fingers
lingering for the air to stop flowing through them.
I am your morning coffee-
even though you know how bad you should let go of me
you remember how it feels without me when you wake up
so you have to get another cup.
I am the window pain of your childhood summer camp-
caked with dead flies and the smell of pine
and the memory of the kid you once were.
I am pieces and faults and scars and addiction-
you tell yourself to stay away
even though in the morning you know you won't listen.
The air fades from between those fingers-
and the nape of your neck meets to have dinner
with the chill running down your spine
like it's late for a final exam.
You are anxiety-ridden and all determined
and I am the stone pebbles at your feet
patiently awaiting the return of your shoes
so I can be carried home.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Planting -
a memory retention
an attempt at reparation
a small mitigation
an intrinsic notion of good
a wooden blessing
a happy healing
- a tree
Feb 22, 2022
Feb 22, 2022 at 10:43 AM UTC
weeding ‘n planting,
(ten rows of garlic, waiting to bite caressing hands)
<•>
unsurprisingly to me
garlic native to northeastern Iran,
so says the arbiter-know-it-all, Senor Wikipedia
did you know that,
amongst us,
a young woman whose back
is bent,
bent over,
weeding and weeping, while picking,
retrieving the fruit of the plain earths plane
spending days
retrieving spring-planted bulbs in the sun,
a mysterious poet residing among us
conjuring up poems and, **** even
plants questions
with granted permission
asks a strangers gasping queries
so simple she renders his
body from soul, makes him
disclose his crazy ill-at-ease
showing
his own
general roots,
slumbering deep in reddish brown soul’s earth
one whose only great escape
through the written poem
when his back is straight,
straight against the wall
backed up,
and ripe for the picking
in reparation
the favor will be returned
three inquiries will be fedex’d
if I ever learn her address
for now, in the throes of soil resting within,
my need knowings just nurturing
until the calendar declares time!
harvesting is now
when we ready shake hands
when you say
“here is the garlic tended,
and here are our hands,
bitten and caressed”
till such time I get
the answers from
the farmer herself,
I can patient wait
further research needs
original sources,
till such time,
make up tales
that will hold in abeyance
my half contented garlic dreams
for was it not written centuries ago:
Even After All this time The Sun never says to the Earth, "You owe me." Look What happens With a love like that, It lights the whole sky.
Ḥāfeẓ-e Shīrāzī
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
I am a broken man
Broken beyond repair
Fallen deep into despair
Torched to ash like a straw man
I am a broken man
Crushed into fine shiny powder
Fragments of a ruined wonder
Now feeling empty like the Morrigan
Tempted to take the Scythe for the Hammer
I chained myself in desperation
A fools decision for a reparation
Death in turn I hunger
For life is a sweet ardor
The bitter sweet taste of reconnaissance
The salt and spice of resilience
'Tis what a broken man yearns with fervor
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 9:19 PM UTC
It comes unexpected,
As is expected;
.....no one knows when.....
Sometimes, it takes too long,
Reparation eludes....fades,
Slips away.
Humanity becomes
...restless...wearied...
Humility,
Rectitude
Are two
Impossible dreams.
I ask God's
Forgiveness
When
I become
Wearied, and
Restless.
Sally
Copyright March 17, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
There's a pretentious air
In the way you presume I care.
How could it possibly be fair
To treat brother like mare?
To pass on your obligation
Is to inspire my frustration.
The thoughtlessness and abdication
Resumes hateful thoughts of vindication.
One asks not for reparation
Or from friendship a vacation.
Just a token of creation
Of an equal-footed communication.
I won't hold grudges, or hate
But you've been tense as of late.
You've been jumping my words to conflate
The words for your anger I use to negate.
Could you just chill out?
Nobody is out to get you.
It's hard to be a friend
When even enemies get more respect too.
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
(A Choreopoem after Ntozake Shange)
Babbling publicly into your phone
the tragedy’s yours, and yours alone:
messages from your dysfunctional city
inflicted in Afro-eccentricity.
Turn off your phone and spare us the drama.
Look for change from the Lord (not Obama)…
Quit twitching your neckline, stop making that face
there’s nothing you merit because of your race;
no right to entitlement. Take it to God—
we hope He will change you, but spare the rod.
And we pray He does change you, put “yes” in your can;
and that change that’s left over (from Savior to man)
might enlighten your heritage, lighten your load
help you calculate more or less what you are owed
in dollars or dignity (afro-semantics)
while twittering radically militant antics.
A debt unforgiven: this claim someone owes you
some change in a can that black history shows you
your hopeful presumption is scant reparation
for ghetto entitlement fouling our nation.
Go harvest your madness and reap what you’ve sown
now that tares have sprung up as you blab on your phone
now that reapers are ready—the data-plan paid
and our melanin levels beginning to fade…
I’ll shout from your rooftop until you’ve heard
and the crackers get fed to the mockingbird.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
Your hateful words lash out and cut me open wide
My heart is bleeding an unarmed, gaping laceration
You drink willingly from the drops of blood I’ve cried
I tirelessly try to search your dark eyes for reparation
Your smile let’s me know that you have found pleasure
You want to see me hurt and I have made it all so easy
In my heart your disrespect has been hidden like a treasure
Words of regret come so quick I know it’s to appease me
It is no accident that you are able to drain me of emotion
This pain is all I have ever seen and all that I have known
Without pain there is no understanding of devotion
So much in love with the performance I have deeply grown
You use sorry as a band-aide to patch the deepened scars
I have heard it so so many times throughout the years
Your words have wounded me like the numbers of stars
I see that you have become drunk thirsting for my tears
You play me like the marionette made of strings and bone
I dance around like a fool for you in my steely iron chains
I have a much greater fear of being so desperately alone
That I have erased any memory of strength that remains
The only thing that is missing is the violence in your hands
Although in time those scars will begin to slowly fade away
I much prefer the lasting pain that killing my soul demands
I can hold on much more tightly to the divisive words you say
In my silence you see weakness but I just don’t want to fight
I don’t understand love without pain that cuts me to the core
And while I cry because it still hurts, inside I love the spite
I must love it like no other thing; I keep coming back for more
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 3:09 PM UTC
Black mountain fingers push
***** toes,
birds, feathers, and native flora.
Suppose the babe was feral;
backwoods tempered, under tall trees,
stinging knees;
nature's reparation.
Steamy soil,
encrusted, permanently, under twisted fingernails.
Green-as-envy rain,
natural,
beat,
gone with the tree swallow's cry;
easy sleep.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC
NEWTOWN (TRIBUTE)
from Tucson,AZ
E.J.Anderegg
In a haven of knowledge, structured for sharing,
an intruder descends with all absence of caring.
Unleashing his crucible’s conscienceless yield,
student’s bastion transformed to a killing field.
Grim reaper bedeviled with hell-bent depravation.
Safe haven for children suffers love’s reparation,
It’s not really surprising that death toll keeps rising,
While the lost moral compass despised compromising.
NRA’s pompous position truly appalls;
Corporate greed clenching sacs that once contained *****
Though psycho’s name fades, he’ll bequest mental anguish.
In Newtown hearts, where young memories languish.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
Immobilized I gaze at the ceiling
Remembering the moments that led to this evening
I choke on the words I dare not say
Forced to deal with the pain that plagues me each day
Piercing each nerve
Giving way to exasperation
Resentment hangs heavy
and I feel suffocated
Another day alone plotting my reparation
These fantasies could end my senses and reason
I wish I could inflict the same anguish upon him
Wounding his pride leaving him with nothing
If only he could feel helplessness and shame
To a degree in which he would never be the same
Only then could my hate begin to wane
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
a writer writes,
to ameliorate the pain
be it holy or profane
be it balanced or insane
with affection or disdain
Every word written wipes away a tear
every line, refuge from fear
a sort of self medication
a self reparation
a hopeful initiation
from a hopeless situation
every couplet,
a bleeding wound healed
every stanza,
a memory sealed
a writer writes,
to begin again
to leave behind the pain
a release from a binding chain
and that familiar refrain
in vain..
and so the writer writes..
Again..
and Again..
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
It's like live how? like you make it
copy down the sad crown
ride the wheel you made it
the strong misguided hatred.
-eclipse-
Bathing naked
The flurried atom swarms and indulgent desires strip me of my latest confirmed identity.
thoughts and painted-eyes
Department earlobe tenants remorse filled by the
phantasmagoric patience and comfort of pain.
So plain and petty feels like I'm crying "lone wolf!" double knot shoe tie
finite coffer rusty nails-stick latent reparation clips of manta ray striking tail whips.
The core is stifled to trip and fall upon the wet autumn leaves, broken twigs, and an earthly wisdom. Carry us, oh misleading stranger to a different home with Velcro that sticks to platelets and crust that covers elbows.
Hatred is stronger for the long-suffering and confusion when what we need is light
The fierce reserve beckoned to fight after immobility subsides and clears clutter away from the self-loathing, shame, and spiritual fatigue.
Maybe today is the day. This spot is reserved anyway and the wolves seem hungry.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
We take on the blame, we inherit the shame
wallowing in the aftermath of an apocalypse
proportions to take down the most resilient warrior
we fight to the death our right to a voice
trust is crushed beyond reparation
truth is heard in the distant by some
stark realities knock in darkness and light
sleep filled with the incoherent disgraces
seeped into the soul's consciousness'
assaulting all reason and sanity
sanctioned for self destruction
the shame that follows engulfs
innocence admonishes all evil
still stuck in the turmoil of self hatred
unjustly bestowed on the naive guiltless
shame's name branded on the psyche
slammed by the brick wall of inertia
sabotaged lives go astray and unfold
the real shame of it all is not ours to own
yet, life no longer flows naturally..............
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
I would crush the guilty like ants under my boot
I would build monuments of their sins and watch evil legacies tailspin
I have had enough of their moral muddling and murderous marauding
No more innocent blood will be shed, not on my world
War will be a fable told to children before bedtime
Those with hate in their hearts would have them forcefully removed
Those that have worked and toiled in pain will be given rest and reparation
Empathy will be the currency most desired and dispensed
I would seat the deserving upon crystal thrones and indulge their hope
I would slit the throats of those that speak violence and scatter their flesh
I have no desire for solace until all have received their karmic doses
Fear is an instrument of weakness, a **** fit for vermin, not my society
I'll make a great scale within my mind and weigh deeds done
Good people deserve more than the flimsy vestiges of past charity
They will see my face and recognize that swift justice is the only solution
They will see an acceptance of death if corruption overtakes my spirit
I would raise the slaves and groom them into kings
I would turn their ancestors’ sweat into red wine and diamond rings
I would lift their chins up to the limitless sky
To infinite empires waiting to be built
This world?
This galaxy?
Ha!
The entire universe will be a reflection of my design
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
Corporation bosses
Tossing the lost
Into the fist of jaws
Concentrations flossing
The reparation of old glory
Muted and refuted
I’m not joining the band
Just because he said
Yes we can
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 8:55 AM UTC
~dedicated to the heart fixers~
sometimes I smack my head,
when a poem commission is lying on
the ground before me, and I just don’t
hear it, believe it, in order to retrieve it…
many months of physical rehabilitation,
sessions always ended with a certain cutesy
Gen Z~Millenial crossover phraseology:
“remember to tell someone you love them”
the instructors mostly youngish,
so we senior~smile
a tad dismissively, give them a reward~grin, and
head for the locker room,
where we gossip and compare notes,
on the Part II of our in-process-future-realization,
living a grueling new life of self-preservation, 24/7
the PTs & EPs pound you on the machina, go faster, work harder,
eat better, sleep more, take those meds, motion is lotion,
walk the talk, never be still, but race to live longer and
prosper, this hard work is your new job, and resignation
is non~optional
now, it hits me, via a figurative sharp slap on the side of the head,
triggering an actual physical manifestation that reverbs to the toes,
that the most important lesson went under the radar,
evading the former trader’s dimming vision,
flunking himself on the rehab test paper,
a purple F for fool,
a grade, earned and deserved, and herein poetically preserved
the hardest heart work, begins only after you co-
commence the longest road back to where you once
belonged, but where you can’t walk alone, for therein
a recipe for failure; and the work that needs doing,
is on you; take that tear-repaired heart, and give it away, it,
one can be healed, but not if sealed, for the hard-hearted
walls thicken, and “*over time, the thickened heart muscle
can become too stiff to fill the heart with blood; the heart
can't pump enough blood to meet the body's needs.*”
so break off pieces of your heart, give them away with
relentless abandon, for this is the heart that self-repairs,
new tissue, new fiber, and most important, regeneration,
the one single reparation that can successfully
accomplish the true miracle of getting by giving,
no forgiving, if you don’t exercise the heart by
“remembering to tell someone you love them”
dedicated to the hard working staff of the
Cardio Rehabilitation Unit
of Nyulangonge, Rusk Institute of Rehabilitation
who started me
with a mighty push on the long road to utilizing my heart properly
<•>
Apr 26, 2024
Apr 26, 2024 at 8:13 AM UTC
Held captive in hell by memories of thee,
And every deceit that has befallen me.
I’ll break these chains like damaged bone;
Fractured clean and broken free
Like a corpse flung from the throne,
Cast aside cold and alone.
With this blood from boiling vein,
Your pain I seek in echoed refrain.
I elicit the shadows in ravenous streams;
The unhinged ire of fallen dark dreams!
My abhorred soldiers shall win my new throne
Whilst I extract my new crown and twist swollen bone!
For every torment that has befallen me
Will be ****** upon thee, times three!
With nasty chains formed from the bone,
I’ll restrain haughty might no reparation can atone!
This chanted bane is most fitting for thee,
As your pain will fill me with sadistic glee!
So mote it be!
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
a statue the envy of Michelangelo
destiny unknown, the medium—perfection,
growing with age and process,
moulded by the hands of an unworthy artist
the sculptor a paragon of ambition to be,
with enamoured eyes the living stone watching me
a selfish chisel striking cruel and careless,
driven by a hammer of regret, tears resultant
unknowing confused questioning and blameless
staining the surface as sadness' garment
the err of inexpert hands curse by
marks impossible to be unmade despite
a love absolute for the victim of his craft
a father undeserving his son
mouth to match heart, hands to mirror soul
my failure
to see through promise made in
reply to infant breath
by youth's eye the world so meagre
my blessing to be king by innocent observer
a man, by title defective
an artist in whom little may be redemptive
words a patchwork of reparation
futile to hide errant strike, reclamation of relation
so daunting subsequent degeneration
your each tear
my sorrow's weight
my son, forgive me—
forgive
your father's abate
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
NEWTOWN (TRIBUTE)
from Tucson,AZ
E.J.Anderegg
In a haven of knowledge, structured for sharing,
an intruder descends with all absence of caring.
Unleashing his crucible’s conscienceless yield,
student’s bastion transformed to a killing field.
Grim reaper bedeviled with hell-bent depravation.
Safe haven for children suffers love’s reparation,
It’s not really surprising that death toll keeps rising,
While the lost moral compass despised compromising.
NRA’s pompous position truly appalls;
Corporate greed clenching sacs that once contained *****
Though psycho’s name fades, he’ll bequest mental anguish.
In Newtown hearts, where young memories languish.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC