"supremity" poems
It happened early one morning.
It happened like it always does,
times 3.
Strapped, armed, holding hands
what every loving mother
shouldn't do.
Word of it traveled
like the winter flu,
by noon everybody had heard
of maniacal faithers
who took home her children
lighting up fireworks.
The sun blazed dazedly
evaporating 3 crosses,
not quite melting the ice.
Until it reached my porch step,
it were but distant voices.
now it's here
and real. like it always is of course
but now it's closer than ever
bursting at my door.
Sliced up like a juicy tomato
his screams are muffled by
a screen screening bright information
into the heads of mouths
who offer surreal commentary
disguised as jokes.
We're terrified.
We're hypochondriacs fearing
contamination of a rampant
plague.
A plague we've never seen before.
Our ****** eyes.
So many have already
been ***** by fate.
Faith in fatherly beards
granting wishes to
obedient children
who go tarnishing other fathers' gardens.
What an absurd world
where IS is ice that
cannot melt.
What an absurd world
where children weep
at mothers' debt.
What an absurd world
where faithful supremity
reigns unchecked.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
Why do the drops of blood
Stain the pristine paper
That is my soul?
I did not wish to bleed
Yet my wounds persist to flow
I tell my heart to heed me
Go slow
Why do the drops of tears
Stain the cheeks so dull?
Sighing into forever
Hopelessness immortalized
Yet my silent cries
Go unheard
As emotions vie
For supremity
Why do the drops of water
Promise a redemption
A vibrant baptism?
The peroxide eating into my sin
Stains fading into oblivion
Behind curtains of memory
Under fountains of love
(c) Anavah 2018
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 9:09 AM UTC
alliteration intervening invasion,
a bed-throned life journey summarily unasked for, reviewing
follow behind the collected beaming seams,
to the discolored end-of-a-whiting rainbow of writings
sack in hand, sack'd yet surfeiting,
gleaning the falling bits,
inventoried stories, the poor and the glorious
light droppings,
stir'd and stor'd in hopsack bag,
woven intervals of clashing fabrics
trilogy of
me, myself and I,
following falling, trailing, failing flalings
cross currenting, swirling,
disheartened chest heaving cursing
if only, a mite more sipping
of courage everlasting
here a memory,
there a visionary,
happy haunting,
glaceing eye dreams
keepsakes of a life
modesty and poorly lived
error prone, choices weak,
father confessor to the supremity of oneself
played safety first,
thirst quenching
with the unsatisfying yellowed bursts
of "it could be worse"
but these stuffing,
gleanings of a life,
uprighted night, declining days, admixture of son and moon,
women's flashing eyes inviting
happy danger and ending disaster inevitability
this sifted treasure chest
of self-selected retained
cursings and blessings,
the measuring cup of a tragedy
well acted, quantifiable pathos superb aplenty
a play veined with comedic relief,
a Falstaff for every Hal,
compare and contrast
your essays on the container storage
of dusted cells morning-mourning
summarizing gleams gleaned from a life well....dissatisfaction satisfied...truth in poetry
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
Allow me to look into the eyes of the devil
I send a prayer to God that I will only see fire in his eyes
and not love.
He may take many forms
The embodiment of beauty,
The disguise of a priest; the holy blessing.
Only let me not see love.
If life was black and white then explain to me, perfect stranger
Why I love the Devil
And why he loves me.
I am sure if the world was black and white then explain this grey area
between light and dark.
I have seen ghosts that haunt his house.
So shall I embrace the empty shadow of myself and
bathe in the supremity of darkness.
Or shall I dowse myself in holy water and
drag him, all guns blazing from the pit of hell he dug for himself.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC