"therein" poems
*Goodnight father
Goodnight sun
Goodnight detestability of day and enjoyment of all things costly and fun
Goodnight to you
And goodnight to me
Goodnight dear bed frame and thank you for this, your stability
Goodnight my pillow
Goodnight my bed
Goodnight and would you carry me, over the moon and back again?
Goodnight to you, to these honest things, which I may or may not mind first thing in the morning
Goodnight my distant memories
And goodnight to my favorite mystery, to your quiet and kind consistencies
For it’s a good night I offer, honestly
A good night from another
A goodnight from me
Goodnight my father
Goodnight to your son
Goodnight moonlit stars and spinning earth
Though the turning therein has just begun
Goodnight my Lord, goodnight and please, watch over those in need of sleep
Goodnight my God, a good night to you
Good night you have been, good to me*
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
Axels and chains and
Feet and brains
It's the bicycle beats
And the trees and the streets
Join the lines in the sidewalk
As I ride and I talk
To myself,
"Breathe in," &
"Breathe out," --
Burning and churning to the
Grooves and the cracks
Red light's the only chance to relax
Racing the bus and flashing a grin
To the sorry folks trapping themselves therein
Ecstasy building with each revolution
Wiping my sweat away, tasting pollution
Grinding and winding a path on my bike
Where cars and pedestrians hate me alike
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
No one should judge another,
Just because of his colour,
Nor because of his culture,
For therein lies our future.
All should live in harmony;
Put aside greed and envy;
Build a great world together;
Differences do not matter.
Among ourselves we squabble;
The sands beneath us wobble;
Is it not time we unite?
For in unity is might.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
To expel the outlines piled in my mind on paper,
With a light pencil in one hand,
And slice of rubber in the other,
I parent an impression of hope.
Therein lies the potential and the excitement;
A basic figure given the foundation of grandeur,
Amplifying in complexity before me,
With every scratch of graphite.
As it evolves, a heaviness sets in.
And I pause,
And I stop...
I've given something beautiful a half life, again,
As if it was birthed human,
With no flesh to cover its nerves,
And no breath to cry out its agony.
It remains still in my lap,
Eyes blank as ever staring, maybe, at me .
Out of humility, I tack it up on the wall,
A space shared by its many siblings.
I retreat shamefully with the promise to complete them,
Fumbling with the reality of what I do;
Playing God, I shape the husk of a soul,
And drop it when it's still brittle.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
Blue is the color of unrequited love
Grey the emptiness therein
Paint a perfect portrait of the loneliness thereof
And color me lonesome again
©Jason Cole
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
Our family got the news today
Our bubba's gettin' hitched
Young Daisy Mae, she's near fourteen
Got our boy bewitched
He's sayin' that he loves her
He's making her his bride
She's the first to get him this close
Though not too many tried
We've got to get things ready
Send invitations and make candles
We've got to get the good jars out
The one's that still have handles
The minister is on alert
We've got to make some shine
Grandpa says he'll make some up
But, it will not all be mine
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
This time there'll be no shotgun
Like the last time for old Ben
This time the guns are empty
Not the way they were back then
The banjos will be tuned up
There'll be music in the air
The cops won't try to stop it
I think most will all be there
The ladies will be planning
Just how to serve up all the grub
While Bubba has to find a suit
And therein lies the rub
He's never worn a suit at all
Not even for a day
He's only dressed in coveralls
And that's how he's gonna stay
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
It'll be a **** dang doodle
A hell of a good time
It'll only be completed
When they run out of the shine
there'll be singing and some dancing
Underneath the harvest moon
We can't wait for it to happen
It cannot come too soon
There'll be readings from the bible
Which the minister will read
And as good holy Christians
Everyone will heed
There's sure to be some fighting
Before the couple say "I do"
I mean, they are both cousins
I'm gonna go...aren't you?
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
This is not a metahpor,
oh no this is so so real,
this is the deliciousness,
oh for my meal,
to consist of the sweet delicacy
Oh I know you know it is true,
Let us fry a koala,
Not make it into stew.
It will be chewy and crunchy,
Oh leave the bones in,
They make the meat more tender,
And toothpicks more fun,
Let your girl make it for you,
And **** you clean while eating.
That is when you've reached heaven,
And the lust and gluttony therein.
If they try to stop you,
From stealing another koala,
Tell them it is your dinner,
And they are making you quite irate.
Beat them in the face,
And shoot their families down,
Nothing must stop you from eating,
Yet another fried koala,
One might even think its fate.
When you **** it out,
Don't fret or moan,
Take it like a man,
And bless the remains,
of the once fried koala,
As you flush it down down down.
Because another lies down under,
To quench your hunger,
Forever.
For Lexi.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
I never got to meet my father...
He died when I was nine months old,
But his presence, I always felt
While I was growing up,
Even up to this day...
He would often visit me in my dreams,
Told me not to worry or despair,
Took my hand,
Told me I could go with him..
Which I almost did...
A few times, in high school
I felt a light push on my back
When my Home Economics teacher
Almost caught me nodding...I was
Too bored, to focus on her sewing lessons...
I was always saved from falling
Each time I climbed the guava tree...
I feel some kind of force stopping me,
Standing ahead of me,
Whenever I cross the street, even now...
My late aunt said she found me
Looking up and giggling
When at three or five years old,
I played by myself beside
My father's tall and sturdy book case...
I see his face when I go through
His dwindling collection of
Edgar Allan Poe books, including his
Law books, and a few western pocketbooks left,
All, with mottled pages now...
The matrimonial bed he shared
With my late mother is still in use...
His portrait is hung on our wall...
Today, the fifteenth of June, his birthday,
I look through his eyes, and-----
In silence, I greet him,
"Happy birthday, papa,
Happy Father's Day, as well."
In my mind, my father lives,
And my own stories of him therein dwells...
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
It always does before I can see
before my foot, my heart
goes out to the sea.
Like the East, like the West
every pole comes in full circle
around this quay.
Far from the bottom of the land
every drop of water spills out
streaming along the rivers
march over to the sea.
I too pop up branching in
with the widest circle sliding
down to this so big but lingering dip.
Therein the sea when a river
looks for the bottom
a star up above in the sky
without a rope without a roof
looks for its peak!
Eye on but touch not
keep off the Moon.
It's for the sea.
For the Moon
the sea too is a Moon!
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
A populace filled with totalitarian tranquility
The supposition that the world is in a harmonic homeostasis
Blissful ignorance that leads to careless calamity
Amid the uproar of the most populated of places
Therein lies the seed of humanity’s deceptive destruction
A solitary host housing a virulent virus
Infectious disease that proceeds crisis and corruption
Hope only stands with the powerful and pious
Prognosis describes communicable cannibalism
Rabid outbursts show signs of voracious violence
The harrowing pandemic leads to ceaseless cataclysm
Cities and towns suspended in systemic silence
Habitations riddled with gratuitous gore
Hope fades in the wake of the crimson carnage
The pestilent hoard feeds to a glutton’s galore
The Author of humanity publishes the final page
The closing verse rains down a rapturous recompense
The high cost of a dense population paid at humanity’s existential expense
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
Time to be in Tune with my own Best Dad
Much would it take to cause Celebration
Sermons apart, yet Insights I just had
Took me some Yards taped for Inspiration
Rarely such Species can just Understand
The Skirted *** most Males eliminate
Still most Sires force their Sons on Demand
To spout their Seeds for Pride to propagate
If you can recall those Sales-Slips within
How Footed and Devote your Presence was
Tri-Dimed Corporate; Or Sea-Tigers therein
Is just the Greeting Card I'll Love at last.
Senior come hither; In Prime Deposit
Father my Mentor; In Wisdom ask it.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
The eternal tango of the maestro manifests itself in nigh infinite ways.
With the flick of the artist's brush, the stroke of the novelist’s pen or the chicken scratch of the scholar’s nib, legacies are etched, history is written and the world is shaped.
The astronomer, the craftsman and the physician all have one thing in common: Mastery.
Such pinnacles of skill have decades of their lives consumed, nay devoured in the pursuit of perfection, of greatness. Like grains of sand slowly falling into a furnace are the seconds of our lives, trickling, melting into puddles. But as sand melts, it forms shapes; therein lies the potential. Moldable puddles, colourless, devoid of naught but a clear medium.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
A special gift lies on the wind
for each man who dares the blunder
Then rolls the dice to pay the price
to both touch and feel this wonder
As then one finds the reason why
that has thus far been so hidden
Endless the loads that walk life’s roads
with the fear that was unbidden
Therein lies the conundrum
which we know our hearts to command
Now it will be for us to see
how well the ship of life be manned
Our lives have no greater calling
then to comfort a poor child’s tears
Truth shows clearer through the mirror
for he who shares these hopes and fears
But oh the sounds of fatherhood
how narre they touch to the heart
Laughter and tears pour from the years
for each of us who play his part
Tate
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
Rising like smoke from the eternal spring
Approaching with rose petals at her feet
Angel of hope sheds light on everything
Whenever life is bitter more than sweet
Within our secret gardens of desire
Fountains of sparkling passion locked away
Therein lies hope, forever to inspire
lest optimism ever goes astray
Age sometimes dims the dancing flame of hope
And drudgery weakens vitality
Darkness and sorrow sometimes interlope
Between us and our dearest fantasy
Yet human spirit finds a way to cope
As long as we find inroads back to hope.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 10:42 PM UTC
I
There is a house with ivied walls,
And mullioned windows worn and old,
And the long dwellers in those halls
Have souls that know but sordid calls,
And dote on gold.
II
In a blazing brick and plated show
Not far away a ‘villa’ gleams,
And here a family few may know,
With book and pencil, viol and bow,
Lead inner lives of dreams.
III
The philosophic passers say,
‘See that old mansion mossed and fair,
Poetic souls therein are they:
And O that gaudy box! Away,
You ****** people there.’
6.8k
In that land somewhere of our dreams
all is to be found right therein it seems
where there isn’t a struggle for survival
as the brotherhood of man is in revival.
We help each other and have no real fear
our hope is occassioned with good cheer.
Whatever we think, do or therefore say
is imbued with love and lights the way.
We have all arrived at that promised land
and must work together as a united band;
giving and sharing of the good we all can
while upholding this brotherhood of man.
Non-violence is one of the rules we live by
the essence of love we maintain and glorify.
We all live as one in both our heart and mind
and express those feelings of a universal kind.
There are no problems that we can’t resolve
as all our life around love does here revolve.
In living by the truth we are becoming free
and in this condition enjoy the grace to see
All that exists in the world can be seen anew
which is an affirmation of scripture and true.
Our life now is filled with bliss as it once began
in this state of knowing the brotherhood of man.
We do not therefore seek to get the better of each other
but accomplish all that we need to helping one another.
Being free from any unnatural cares our lives are whole
and all that ever happens a joyful experience of the soul.
Awake to intuition we have to realise our ultimate potential
and so everything bears the stamp of some divine credential.
In being as we are then our years extend for a long span
as we all live in accordance with the brotherhood of man.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 7:08 PM UTC
[Dedicated to George Raffalovich]
In the Years of the Primal Course, in the dawn of terrestrial
birth,
Man mastered the mammoth and horse, and Man was the
Lord of the Earth.
He made him an hollow skin from the heart of an holy tree,
He compassed the earth therein, and Man was the Lord of
the Sea.
He controlled the vigour of steam, he harnessed the light-
ning for hire;
He drove the celestial team, and man was the Lord of the
Fire.
Deep-mouthed from their thrones deep-seated, the choirs
of the æeons declare
The last of the demons defeated, for Man is the Lord of
the Air.
Arise, O Man, in thy strength! the kingdom is thine to
inherit,
Till the high gods witness at length that Man is the Lord
of his spirit.
6.4k
Butterflies kiss the sage, where sun drips off primrose
into mute lily horns who know but cannot say:
This is the day. In yonder Sycamore a cardinal's question
is answered from afar: This is the day. Sleep no more
fields of green. Arise and be heard all who dwell within.
The night has been, has poured out all its darkness like water
onto parched earth that cannot be gathered up again.
When with eyes as good as closed we peered into the night
what stain had we beheld? Was it ink upon our canvass,
dripping from the trees, running on the lawns and fields,
the gardens deep in slumber, staining dark foreboding hills?
"Be thou, " we cried, "a lamp unto our feet, a light unto our eyes."
What then should we have seen who could not see,
or known who could not know, what has once been made,
once beheld, once loved, what was once our own continues still?
This is the day. Let all who have a sound to make proclaim.
From among the pines, from within the thickets come. Let each one
make his song. This is the day. We shall not sleep therein.
Arrogant and proud the night, let all the living cry. Profound
the darkness. Grave the depth of night. Become a dew
for unction of the lilies who know but cannot say this:
This is the day. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
What you could not tell me;
as distinct as a infant's cry,
was why?
Had the torture within you
rattled the bars and forced
you to plead sweet ignorance?
Would you have understood
an alibi, had I delivered it
to you in homonyms?
Were we a pair, had we pared?
Or did one of us bite too harshly
on the pear?
Or would you continue with
me, the way you knew how...
artfully coy, and full of deception?
and then, I realized
I knew... had always known
and therein is the rub
that has left me bare, a bear,
a grizzly discovery.
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 9:43 AM UTC
NEW YEAR INTROSPECTION PART FOUR
the air of maturity
is breathed today
with such rarity
that what is termed
the age of majority, <
is in reality not,
it instead being
a place of minority;
it's occupants being
the selfless lot who
give freely of their proffering,
offering themselves an offering
and considering themselves
adequately advantaged
as they willingly
position becoming likely
to be taken advantage
and taken for granted
hearts ready for breaking
yet give, love, share
heal, they do,
and freely so;
therein standing
in stark contrast to
the narcissistic hoards
who protect,
with pirouetting steps,
their barren nests,
empty hearts,
and meager pockets,
ever failing to realize
that nature’s law
bestows abundance best
at the selfless giver’s behest.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
My Prize for Waiting
~
*tucked in all by myself,
resting dark and quiet
in the thin place^
where the distance between
this world and the next,
is no distance at all,
but a few inches separating,
easily fordable, back and forth-able
my palms, hands down,
come to rest on my *******
and the two thumbs in unison,
begin to sweep the streaming space of their in-between,
conducting a radar sweep-search for the precise point
passageway to poetic mystical places,
hoping to snag any residuals for safekeeping
no hurry to either arrive or depart,
in patient attendance for
rhythms of woven word arrivistes,
coming in no particular order,
asking to be seized, greedy to be
nominated and recognized, immortalized,
as great poetry, prize worthy,
kept for all time inside others poetry chests
but in the thin place,
dream records are not kept,
hazy scraps at best retained,
a recipe for a witnessed totality,
is only a soupy reduction of a
few seconds of hazed video,
that can neither give nor get
no satisfaction
the plastic surgeons attempt to reconstruct
the body of the meal, the real deal,
alas, there are no prizes either
for botched surgeries and pretty but meaningless
poetry scraps
the only evidence of my travels,
a flushing, blushing residual flow,
slow to dissipate, a hangover makers mark
of a sojourn best described as unsatisfying,
my blush, a prize for waiting but failing,
“the most peculiar and most human of all expressions”^^
woe to me when returned in ignominy,
medaled in only base irony,
me and philosopher Pliny,^^^
both dying while recording our own private Vesuvius,
our bodies preserved by voluminous volcanic ash,
but alas, you cannot recite the ash of poetry
so one waits, cut and pasting brown edged
burnt photographs epistles,
that are clinging and clung to the distaff spindle,
insufficient to weave a flax complete
and yet we return perforce twenty four hours from now,
to snag another prized piece of meaningless,
my prize for waiting
in the solitude of the thin place*
3:35am Saturday April 6th, 2019
~
last nights scrap
***cease your whining,
seize your waiting,
therein is your own paid price
for the prize of inspiration***
inspired by Jean Fisher,
a real prize winning poet
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 4:26 AM UTC
A special gift lies on the wind
for each man who dares the blunder
Then rolls the dice to pay the price
to both touch and feel this wonder
As then one finds the reason why
that has thus far been so hidden
Endless the loads that walk life’s roads
with the fear that was unbidden
Therein lies the conundrum
which we know our hearts to command
Now it will be for us to see
how well the ship of life be manned
Our lives have no greater calling
then to comfort a poor child’s tears
Truth shows clearer through the mirror
for he who shares these hopes and fears
But oh the sounds of fatherhood
how narre they touch to the heart
Laughter and tears pour from the years
for each of us who play his part
Tate
Original version with music
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/664153/
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
ARTERY CONFESSION.
_Her love to me is like moon light, on a starry night._
As rising sun at dhawn. Like vine planted on his heart's yard. _which he ought to water to flowery_ _And fruitage._
his love for her is as deep as the dept of an ocean, _with the fishes abiding therein,_ _as stars, moon,_ and the sun adhered to the sky, it never
departed away from her side.
_his love to her can simply easily be compared to_ _GOD's towards mankind._
So he confessed and rendered his heart to her. _Like a teeming downpour upon earthen soften, it surface._
so her love compassed his heart comforting, _like pabulum to mind._
As light rays to eye sight. His love for her is reality only can be told in tale of their love story,
_gory to glory._ _He so_
Much love her and
really ready,
_in for her, fell in the water._
Lost and found with her for ever. _He wish he could wash her feet wilt the waters of his soul, cleansing her heart._
because he see her heart compatible to his.
_Remembered old days of midnight calls, they never used to give sleep to their eyes._ While talk through night, dusk till dawn,
_Remembered promises and all the pain they both had gone through heaven and hell._
*Never forgot the only first day he felt the fullness of her ******* _how sooth her heart. Tongue on tongue, mouthy pleasure._
His hands on her curves. Briskly remembered she _told him that after her_
momma he be next to her.
_She call him dad he call her Mami._ Before she demised his mama used to asked about his lady. His homies do too.
_His young blood can't either forget her memories,_
last night he was asked about her, oh sweetness
_is all about thee._ _Can't forget_
her, _he always craves_ her. All he ever wanted and desires are all found in her, his boo. _He truly loves her because he knew she'd make a good mother,_
Hope she'd understand if he change sometimes just only because he never own everythang as his. _So remember he always told her_
that he will always be there for her as time,
_even in the world after here._ _Her love is so good to him_
She has the key to his heart.
_reminisce she told him she'd_
_rather die for him than sleeping at someone else side._
She's his inspiration like a transportation, his motivation only she can help build his cloud nation. _His aspiration_
all is found in her, _all in ONE no one else but she._
She source the past time joy and still the reason _for today's and the hope_
of tomorrow's glee.
Sacrifice his love for her because he believes in future with her, she's his destiny his fate mate his ruth, his batsheba,
_His mary, his eve and soulmate._
#c9_fm
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 4:26 AM UTC
You are ember with less orange
You are tree bark true and brook trout at play
You are earthy as the hollow dell in the Catskills still
Turning as the waterways
You are ever moving, always slight
Looking back over those delicate shoulders of yours
To the footprints of me
And in the time spent therein not a day’s older
I don’t know her name
But I know what I see
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
Youth runs hot, shinning souls consumed by desire.
On a search, they look for love to acquire.
But life walks by and shine does fade,
And all are in a masquerade.
It is as Heathcliff and his Kathy, they lost their love for pride.
If ether one had shown their face, would Kathy be his bride?
But life walks by and scars are made,
And all are in the masquerade.
Will you be as Ahab was, relentless for his whale.
If he had looked without his mask, would wind still hold his sails?
But life walks by and some do die,
And still goes on the masquerade.
Or will you be as the Phantom, searching for Christine.
But in the end it is Christine that finds true beauty hidden.
But life walks by and some scars fade.
And still some play the masquerade.
I beg you live your lives with passion, don't give yourself to fear.
For it is in life's darkest hours that true beauty does appear.
To look beyond life's ugly scars, to see a heart in all it's pain...
And love despite.
Do search you for your strange duet, and be not afraid to lift his mask.
For therein is where true beauty lies... And life walks by.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC