"revisits" poems
A follow on poem to 'In the Sunroom (Suicide)" (1)
writ many years later...
~For MWK~
<>
A stray thought. a burring burrowing, thorny tawny:
A wish, yet to get, but vetted for each of us.
*This within, this redoubt, a contemplative oasis,
my indoor poet's nookery rookery sanctuary
each one, each is, deserves, all, one such,
a place holy filled, with lice and dirt of a life,
strained and trained for emission and transmission
of the best of the worst, and the triumphant emergent commission of
our individualized most excellent fresh best
where crumbs of apple crisp pie solidify, vanilla bean ice cream
melt offsets the oven heated warmth, and from this interactive
contrasts combative,
a poem pie reborn, newly disguised, familiar words,
yet unheard and before this very never,
went unspoken and now goes forth
svelte and unbroken
*rhymes of yore, forgot from a before, but making up the walls
of the here and now,
a sunroom to spread out the lit lights of egress and entrance,
of fire door no exits that now are chiseled closed,
lock in, lock up, and somehow, one, stills to learn from
the stilling quiet solitude.
to penetrate the prostrate kneeling grinning grief,
how to expel and spell the words
that grant
relief
visit my sunroom, though no fiction.
the sun rays *********** create the friction
of that which cannot ever be withered nor contained,
and your mouth opens wide and a poem birthed and delivered,
pastiche paste composted of truth and dreams of fiction, fine diction,
with a shrug, a smile, a satisfaction extracted extraordinary,
you garner moments of satisfaction but cloud cover returns,
and the process of sunrise exposition recommences,
and one revisits the elemental sequencing of
all the predecessor pain, but this time,
for gain, for gain,
<>
written this sabbath Saturday
12:38am EST
Sat Aug 2
2025
in the sunroom,
on Shelter Island
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:59 AM UTC
A funeral for a Great King
Mourning
Ageing
Descendants carve their paths
Glory
Heorot
A Demonic mood-killer
Lonely
Grendel
A hero answers the call
Distant
Majestic
A vow of aid
Impressive
Doubtful
Claims become realized
Death
Celebration
Danger revisits
Vengeance
Maternal
A journey to the marsh
Darkness
Fiends
An underwater duel
Headless
Reward
The hero departs
Sadness
Homecoming
A joyous return
Stories
Changes
A death in the family
Sadness
Inheritance
50 years prospers the Hero-King
Greatness
Theft
A beast is awoken
Ancient
Furious
The people suffer
Dust
Ashes
An old king rebels
Victory
Grief
A funeral for a Great King
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 10:54 AM UTC
They scatter themselves freely to the breeze
Shaking their heads, rocking with the beat
seeds creep under the roots of nearby trees
tucking themselves into cool soil out of the heat.
The white against the green and orange with blue
I'd never tire of this, even if I was to be asked again
Marigolds and daisies - what a very splendid view
My childhood revisits making the endless daisy chain.
Marigolds remind me of the sunsets we used to see
Oranges splashed over and above the sky
with toes dangling in the cool of the sea
watching the world in my oranges and whites go by.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
There is a song that skins remember.
A line that resounds in silences.
A form the heart revisits
in fervid recollections.
That you must not speak,
that you must not speak.
Silences can ****
No need to ask Crusoe.
Stars that explode in suicide:
From aeons of tortuous silences,
from distant companions,
silently cold.
Yes, our silences talk. Sorry, this
was not how it was supposed to be.
Strains of there we go again.
Gulfs of empty spaces between
silent vales, that birth the
mourning winds.
Murmurs leap out like dolphins
out of our silences.
Waiting to hear each other. Past
the dirge at the grave of my errors.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
Bent over the painted lines of her road.
Stood a black feathered crow
peeling back a tendon of flesh,
Like a strand of red twizzler candy,
from the tannish white fur
of a dead bunny.
she thought this was cute.
"AWW! THEY'RE KISSING!!"
Her daddy did not correct her.
This memory, he revisits every time she brings a new boy home.
Debates internally,
the tipping scales that balance ignorance and optimism.
If maybe he should have explained the beauty in death, rather than let her beleive her illusions.
The beauty in nature, the circle of life.
Like a cat, she brings home dead animals
Like the owner of a cat,
He is unimpressed.
Maybe if he told her the bunny was dead, she would stop offering herself to the crows.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
This year feels like a review of the last,
Maybe it's just 'cause the beggining's a bit rough,
And everyone revisits the past..
But you with those eyes like jewels and your shining smile,
You make it all worth the while,
February, March, April, May,
I'm tired but that's ok,
Let's create some memories to review..
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
Dear Mother Earth
We've done a job on your place
God won't be too happy
When he revisits the place
He'll be asking a question or two
As to why we did of you *****
He'll never forgive us for the mess we've made
Human kind won't escape his tirade
Dear Mother Earth
God created you with care in mind
But the inhabitants on your surface
Have not been too kind
We've stuffed up your orb
Which shall not please God at all
As he left you in our keeping
Until he again makes a call
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
In his final moments
He clutched his sheet in fear
Staring at the wallpaper
He knows his time is near
The unshaded lightbulb
The dust around the room
Black mould in the windowsill
Adding to the gloom
Loved ones stand around him
For their tearful last goodbyes
Forever shall be without him
But he cannot reason why
His thoughts now are desperate
And nothing shall they gain
But to toy with logic, reason
Might help to ease the pain
The universe for him
Is not beyond the sky
For when his time expires
His universe will die
He recalls a varnished box
And now his fears somehow subside
It was stored in an upstairs cupboard
Where he sometimes used to hide
The distinctive smell of varnish
The rusty broken locks
Tins of enamel paint
Occupy the box
Time seems at a standstill
As he revisits his past
A time once thought forgotten
He prays this time to last
He opens up the fusty box
To take a look inside
His father's name inside the lid
Consumed is he with pride
His loved ones weep with sorrow
As he walks his final mile
His body still and lifeless
He exits with a smile
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 3:45 PM UTC
*She scribbles endlessly,
waiting for her true love to see
the aching in her wanton heart
pen'd in crimson's darkly hue'd soul
inky passages of the past
when the sun still shine'd a'glow
and all was write with the world
As the wind rushes over the moors
she thinks of her Heathcliff'd dreams
reverie of timely love season'd skies
when spring sprung eternally
old man winter was only a notion
frozen in another's memories
til stormy nights overcame the fantasy
Still, she revisits her place in the sun
bleeding out on paper without conscience
a wavering inner voice triumphs demurely
as emotions spill over the tethered wastelands
once a land of wide open lush filled pleasures
this place now only a reminder of tormented defeat
yet, her resolve for passion's affection remains*
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
The criminal always revisits the scene of the crime, as if you were the criminal, and lying to me was the crime. Does that make me the victim? Well then who was the witness? Was she your accomplice? We have left this alone for a year, you moved on, I wasn't expecting to find you back here, where I am stuck on this metaphorical street, waiting, just waiting, for the criminal to return to the scene of the crime, all the while I was waving to passerby's and saying "I'm fine!" Was I lying? Would that be a crime? I'm fine, ******* it, I was doing just fine! Until the criminal decided to return to the scene of the crime, what's even the difference between a wrong and right lie? And what if I were to just say goodbye, to you and her and him, would that be okay? It not like we have much to say, part of the same crime, but on different sides, and what if I can't leave this metaphorical spot on the street? You could promise me to never come back, but we both know that would be a lie- because the criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
Comfort is nice but mundane bores
I must explore the wonders of sea
My thoughts take wings, zest soars
I set sail on my journey with glee
A crushing wave, a sudden slip
Yanking my board from under my feet
Hither tither I scramble for a grip
Boy this feels, anything but sweet
Not what I thought - no easy play
Things just aren't going my way
I look for reason, reason flees
Reason tells me meaning you’ll see
Tired of evil, tired of this ploy
I loosen my grip, I free control
In this moment, I now enjoy
The ebb and flow of the larger whole
A storm revisits, I know the drill
I'm tossed again in life's caprice
I align my will with divine will
And now I sail the winds with ease
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 1:39 AM UTC
in her eighties
motoring in wisdoms and whimble
beddened by stroke subtle effects
and an unlucky stumble
agilely un-humble
willing to poach after life put in the work
willing to comb back in old welcome habits
revive living through past youthful revisits
May 7, 2025
May 7, 2025 at 4:34 PM UTC
Wondering if this is the day
Maybe you decided to just slip away.
You haven't called this morning to simply say.
Have a good day bae.
I call but there's no answer.
Guess your too busy today to be there.
Guess today you just don't care.
Emotions are left suspended where.
Just hanging somewhere.
If you find it difficult to say goodbye.
Still doesn't mean my heart won't cry.
Resuscitate.
When ever I thought we were doing great.
The sweet way we like conversate.
Seems we be getting along well able to relate.
Next thing I know you'd say you'd call me back in a few minutes.
And it'd be many hours after pushing me to the limits.
Feelings of us ending revisits.
Feelings of losing is like dying.
Resuscitate.
Shallow emotional Breathing.
Then your calling like all is fine again we're talking.
Never admiting.. Pulse and respirations needs to be taken.
Palputations..Resuscitating.. Rightly breathing breaths shaken.
Thoughts of leaving. who will be the first to make it a goodbye.
Resuscitate before its too late...Beautiful conversations are all a lie.
Stumble.. rocky.. deleting..unfriending..unbelieving ..Today!
Do Not RESUSCITATE..
By SelinaSharday all rights reserved. S.A.M 2018
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 2:38 AM UTC
When my old friend
Walks through the door
He's come a long way with me
Constant companion
My fiercest combatant
An old corollary
Of my ****** up existence
I simply take him
Close in my arms
And rest while weeping tales away
Waiting till he wanders off
And someday he'll be back again
I just wish
When my old friend revisits
I'm jolly stocked with hearty ale
And songs to sing of old and new
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 11:59 PM UTC
On waking, all sounds of war
And nightmarish visions
Dissolve. He lay there
Head on the pillow,
Eyes scanning the room,
Ears searching for sounds,
Met birdsong from an open window,
And the distant sound
Of voices below and along
The corridor outside.
Each night war revisits him,
Memories plague his mind,
Sights and scenes disturb,
Tremors along his nerves
Bring on the shakes and screams
Of nightmares and sick dreams.
© Terry Collett
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 9:40 AM UTC
Alone the world has alway' been,
In cold the space where planet bend,
Next mars or pluto lit between —
But none would ever bother them.
Then stands alone this human being
And wonder where he'd travel then:
He flies to worlds beyond the stars,
Can mend the dream before his will,
Can think of ogres, wizards all;
Can think a way into a thrill:
But further down he might recall
Where evil hides and watches still.
While mission plans fall on a whim,
And rarely do they e'en come true,
Man revisits one for him —
And hopes that someone listens too:
Like father to us all children
And mother like the earthy moon.
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 1:28 PM UTC
Vicious cycles round and round
All as yet to be unwound
Dripping venom hatred be
After all just you can see
Pain revisits hurts you rend
Scars away you cannot send
Call my name for savior come
Perhaps you’ll find where you are from
Lost alone you wander far
Fallen angels your way they bar
Trapped of will none but your own
Drained of blood all skin and bone
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC
And these bottom lines
I so vaguely define
Full of missing spaces
Vanished in time
Perhaps too much of me
On these pages to bear
My ink pen desperately
Pleading for air
Still my heart
Revisits despair
And where is the empathy
You said was missing
After a cold hard look
At my dispositions
Shall we still pretend
That a heart can truly mend
I'd love to embrace
Such a beautiful end
For my falsehood
I'd surely atone
But these unfinished poems
Get written in Rome...
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 7:31 AM UTC
*She scribbles endlessly, ferociously
waiting for her true love to glance
the aching in her wanton heart
pen'd in crimson's darkly hued soul
inky passages of the past
when the sun still shine'd a'glow
and all was write with the world
As the wind rushes over the moors
she thinks of her Heathcliff'd dreams
reverie of timely love season'd skies
when spring sprung eternally
old man winter was only a notion
frozen in another's memories
til stormy nights overcame the fantasy
Still, she revisits her place in the sun
bleeding out on paper without conscience
a wavering inner voice triumphs demurely
as emotions spill over the tethered wastelands
once a land of wide open lush filled pleasures
this place now only a reminder of tormented defeat
yet, her resolve for passion's affection remains*
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
coming back to you like the rain revisits time and time again
washing over your valleys and mountaintops
little by little your layers disappear
you are left a clean surface
your forgotten shimmering through
and every layer you’ve ever had is shed, a second skin
everything you’ve ever feared spills out from your ears
and every summit you’ve climbed peeks out at your belly
every wound you’ve suffered shimmers from underneath the surface
oceans of tears like puddles filling up your collarbones to the brim
you’re a landscape full of forgotten things
May 27, 2020
May 27, 2020 at 1:17 AM UTC
And these bottom lines
I so vaguely define
Full of missing spaces
Vanished in time
Perhaps too much of me
On these pages to bear
My ink pen desperately
Pleading for air
Still my heart
Revisits despair
And where is the empathy
You said was missing
After a cold hard look
At my dispositions
Shall we still pretend
That a heart can truly mend
I'd love to embrace
Such a beautiful end
For my falsehood
I'd surely atone
But these unfinished poems
Get written in Rome...
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
Why do people revisit their old wounds ?
Is it an addiction to pain ?
Or unwillingness to let go of misery ?
It is the same reason a bird revisits its broken nest;
To see if it can fix its broken walls or remove the thorns from its floor board .
Perhaps to try something different from last time hoping this time round it will work.
This is the law of life ; learning to leave with pain.
Sometimes when the skeleton gets out of the closet you can't take it back.
The only way to understand pain is to look deep into it without turning back ,to stare Into the dark abyss until you see the light.
Because healing always begins with embracing pain not running away from it.
Sep 30, 2022
Sep 30, 2022 at 7:58 AM UTC
*
**∆
The thoughts, forming a train
travel down the memory lane
the mind, being the engine
the heart, fuelling it in tandem
^
crosses many stoppages
carrying the baggages
one full of hopelessness
other full of haplessness
one full of helplessness
and one carrying restlessness
^
the train keep revisiting the places
unloading the contents from it's coaches
the train is quite slow
at times stalls and refuses to go
^
the heart stays longer
mind tries to move further
many trips the train makes daily
the baggage being dropped consciously
^
the bogies are lightened
the mind is quitenened
the train is shortened
the world is brightened
^
the train, still makes trips
those places, it revisits
but quickly it comes back
to the track
^
with an attitude
of gratitude
the train goes on
and i move on....**
*
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 10:48 PM UTC
my head can be crazy, my head can be sane
my head can be home to the worst kind of pain
the kind that revisits - unwelcome, unkind
belittle the days that were good to your mind
it leaks into dreams so to make of you less
attacks you at night when you’re trying to rest
but this is what’s crazy and this is what’s sane
your mind is an altar, a product of pain
the kind that will knock ‘fore it opens the door
acknowledge the body that lies on the floor
the kind that shows empathy for you and me
erases the days we could never be free
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
Sense impressions long ago forgot
escape from somewhere deep
in memories vigilant grip
the mystery of a life lived
revisits at a time you least expect.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 5:20 PM UTC