"trudged" poems
The Story
by Kamal Nasser
translation by Michael R. Burch
I will tell you a story ...
a story that lived in the dreams of my people,
a story that comes from the world of tents.
It is a story inspired by hunger and embellished by dark nights of terror.
It is the story of my country, a handful of refugees.
Every twenty of them have a pound of flour between them
and a few promises of relief ... gifts and parcels.
It is the story of the suffering ones
who stood waiting in line ten years,
in hunger,
in tears and agony,
in hardship and yearning.
It is a story of a people who were misled,
who were thrown into the mazes of the years.
And yet they stood defiant,
disrobed yet united
as they trudged from the light to their tents:
the revolution of return
into the world of darkness.
Kamal Nasser was a much-admired Palestinian poet and Palestinian Christian, who due to his renowned integrity was known as "The Conscience." He was a member of Jordan's parliament in 1956. He was murdered in 1973 by an Israeli death squad whose most notorious member was future Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak. Barak (born Ehud Brog) later ruled as Israel’s tenth Prime Minister from 1999 to 2001. His adopted Hebrew name Barak means "lightning." As a younger man, Brog/Barak was a member of a secret assassination unit that liquidated Palestinians in Lebanon and the occupied territories. In the 1973 covert mission Operation Spring of Youth in Beirut, which was part of the larger Operation Wrath of God, he disguised himself as a woman in order to assassinate Palestinians. The raid resulted in the deaths of two women, one of them an elderly Italian. Two Lebanese policemen were also killed, along with the poet Kamal Nasser.
Nasser was the PLO's most prominent Christian and he enjoyed "great appeal" in Lebanon, Syria, and Iraq "both as a distinguished poet and likeable personality." He was the “conscience of the Palestinian revolution,” according to Nazih Abul-Nidal, who worked with him on the magazine Filastin al-Thawra. Nasser “had the most democratic outlook of all Palestinian leaders at the time,” he recalls. He respected opposing views, admired the commitment of young people, and was a major recruitment asset for the Palestinian revolution. “That is why he was put high on the hit-list.” The previous year, the Israelis had murdered another renowned Palestinian writer and activist in Beirut, Ghassan Kanafani, by booby-trapping his car. Nasser’s successor, Majed Abu Sharar, was also assassinated by Israelis, in Rome in 1981 while attending a conference in solidarity with the Palestinian people.
Keywords/Tags: Kamal Nasser, Palestinian, Palestine, PLO, Conscience, Ramallah, Christian, religion, poet, Arab, Arabic, Arab Spring, betrayal, conflict, courage, devotion
Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 7:55 AM UTC
Streets of the city has recently bathed, with a sudden hour
long mid-Summer's rain.
Romeo trudged down the empty street, towards his lonely
pad located on a terrace.
He had nothing to call his very own, excepting his dear old
Saxophone!
The crowd in the hotel applauded as he played, since he played
with empathy like every other day.
He had met his Juliet briefly once, those were the moments of
a happy trance!
The saxophone has countless musical notes embedded inside, -
For our Romeo to play them out night after night.
Yet so many Romeos like him shall slowly fade away;
And the saxophone shall play their dirge at the end of
the day!
-By Raj Nandy, New Delhi
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 11:23 AM UTC
The Miner, Absolom
(a haibun)
green hill where sheep graze
white bones and coal, buried, held
seasons all the same
My grandfather worked in the mines from age thirteen to seventy. His life was closed in by mountains, the green one at the back, the dark looming one at the front and the pit head along the valley., winding the men in and out of the shaft, day after day, dawn until dusk when they came home singing
boots ring on the road
deep valley voices echo
backyard starlit smoke
.
They worked on their bellies or crouched, often in water for days, water that undermines rock. Shaft collapses where frequent. Life was cheap. He came home covered in coal dust to his wife and two sons, sons he was determined to keep out of the mines. Yet he loved that coal - coal that he always polished with care before lighting a fire, brushing dust off black diamond surfaces.
water breaks through rock
with wood and straining shoulders
man becomes the beam
He saved twenty lives that day, men he had known from boyhood. When his lungs were affected they laid him off, no pay, no pension, no life. He bought an insurance book with the money he had and every day he trudged over the mountains and valleys gathering pennies that would help to secure some livelihood to the widows who lost their men in the mines. He never told his wife that when a family couldn't pay he put the pennies in for them rather than leave them unprotected.
winter, summer, fall
the mountain hangs over all
tired to the backbone
When the mines were nationalised my grandfather went straight back to the coal face despite his age. He wasn't going to miss those days of glory. Safety was suddenly the watchword and changes were made very fast. Hot showers were installed at the pit head and the miners came home clean at last.
men stripped to the skin
hot water, steam, baptised
brothers singing hymns
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
*at the end of the ticking time that rushing ..
i contemplate the expanse of despair that has passed ..
at the junction of desire that embroider serene ...
my hopes are pinned hard petrified ..
as i trudged up the ladder of life ..
you bolster me in order to stay ahead ..
when i am tired to hit hardest desire ..
you wash my sweat with exuberant embrace..
when i get wounded by the sharp of blade of era ..
you wrapped me with sincerity ..
there's no string of words that look beautiful to me,
i spit all over the rhymester while reading pen script from your conscience ..
there's no shade of voice that sounded good to me,
i throw up the whole commercial hypocritical preacher when hear advice from your sincerely ..
if the shape of the grateful is exist,
then i will chisel your figure in a stretch of horizon ..
if a form of sincerity can be visible to the eye,
then i will paint your smile in the court of canvas twilight ..
my polite to my friend my angel,
i ask god, salvation for you ..
i ask the cause of prime substance , health for you..
because your happiness is an honor for me ..*
-the poetry is dedicated to a sincere friend of mine, Ha-
┈┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶ ƦУ »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
sahabatku malaikatku
dipenghujung waktu yang berdetak laju..
kurenungkan hamparan asa yang telah berlalu..
dipersimpangan keinginan yang menyulam syahdu...
kusematkan harapan yang keras membatu..
saatku tertatih menapaki tangga kehidupan..
engkau papah aku agar selalu terdepan..
saatku lelah menghantam kerasnya keinginan..
engkau basuh peluhku dengan rimbunnya dekapan..
saatku terluka terhunus tajamnya pedang roda jaman..
engkau balur perihku dengan sejuknya ketulusan..
tiada untaian kata yang terlihat indah bagiku,
kuludahi seluruh pujangga saat membaca torehan pena aksara nuranimu..
tiada keteduhan suara yang terdengar merdu bagiku,
kumuntahi seluruh pendakwah komersial nan fasik saat mendengar tausyah tulus darimu..
apabila bentuk dari bersykur itu ada,
maka akan kupahat figurmu dihamparan cakrawala..
apabila wujud ketulusan itu dapat terlihat mata,
maka akan kulukis senyummu dipelataran kanvas senja..
santunku untuk sahabatku malaikatku,
keselamatan bagimu kupintakan pada Penciptaku ..
kesehatan bagimu kumohonkan pada Dzat penguasaku
karena kebahagianmu merupakan kehormatan bagiku..
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC
It was a restless night denuded of sleep
So since it was warm and windless
I hit the streets
Walking under ancient oaks draped in Spanish moss
My path inevitably led to where
Everything was at a complete loss
Crescent Moon Memorial Cemetery
For the dead
Where all lie below earthly care
Was where my feet had somehow led
Row upon row of forgotten names
In all of their endeavors
Have been eased of their earthly pains
And now as I trudged by at a quarter to three
A low chorus and chords of music
Through the mists came floating to me
It startled and intrigued
What now is this ?
So I had to go see for myself
And I silently crept to where came the origins of bliss
In a circle of bench seats and monument stones
The strangest thing I saw , that of the unborn
Ghosts and skeletons playing with bones and singing in moans
A see through piano , trombone , bass , saxophone and a silver cornet
And one wailing guitar completed the set
On the translucent petal bass drum
Was the name of the ethereal band
And to a catchy tune I began to hum
Crescent Moon Memorial Buried Blues Band
The epitaph on the vaporous drum stated
And I soon found myself a loyal fan
What seem like a lifetime they continued to play
Quaint rthyms and lyrics now made my day . . . and night !
As the sounds drifted across the river out onto the bay
But far off I heard the mornings cock's call
Then phiff . . . vanished all into the fog
Not a trace as if covered by an invisible pall
And then a ray caught the gleam in my eye
And I knew that when the time comes
Here's where I want to be placed after I die
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
My fingertips will never let me forget the scent of stale cigarettes.
I was a fool in London. All the friends I made had better accents than me.
I dreamed of Bulgaria and Brazil.
I walked through mud. I waited for French tides.
I trudged in heavy water waders.
My hands built a house with stones older than the country on my passport.
The etching of cement on my boots still reminds me what we carried there.
We drove along tired volcanoes and craggy cliffs in the dark.
I never learned how to drive manual.
We flew further south. I dried out in the sun.
The glands of Spanish streets pulsated
citrus mist into the air, my lungs.
I never did remember the difference between limon and lime.
We stayed in a haunted castel but missed Halloween.
The upper peninsula, where Napoleon dreamed of a better dinner.
We moved to Shangri-La. Even in Eden, people still snore.
But there were cakes laced with flowers. And I was over the moon.
Then, a dreamscape. The closest to the Arctic I’ve ever been.
We ate deer for dinner. I baked Danish pies. I slept supine in a smoke-filled yurt. It was all peace. It was all over.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
a
rainbow
came into view
as the hikers
trudged the high hill
its colors were dazzling
they stood for many a minute
marveling at its bright palette
no handsome *** of gold could be seen
but nature had provided a grand scene
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:37 AM UTC
.
A man has a wolf, a goat and a head of cabbage. While traveling, the group comes to a river's edge. The river is wide with a swift current.
The man obtains a very small boat/raft, floating thing. So small in fact he can only take one of the three at one time. Here is the problem. If he takes the cabbage, the wolf would surely eat the goat. But if he takes the wolf, the goat would surely eat the head of cabbage. How can he get himself, the wolf, the goat and the head of cabbage all safely across the river to the other side?
Take a moment and try to figure it out then read my little story to help you along. Have fun and I'll see you on the other side of the river.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
***There once was a man from Afghanistan
with his wolf, some cabbage and goat
set forth to cross the desert remote
they trudged for days on end, maybe as long as a week
whew!! the smell of that cabbage **** did it wreak
over dunes and hills to a mountain's ledge
which lead them down to the river's edge.
Now the wolf was a master over hill and dale
but crossing the river, he would surely fail
with cabbage as baggage and a goat that won't float
he knew in an instant, he needed a boat.
He stammered, and scratched and pondered awhile
he couldn't decipher how they could all cross The Nile
He grabbed a few pieces of floating wood
and lashed them together a tight as he could
He stared at his float, then peered the wolf,
back to the float then to the goat, Hum,
with cabbage, wolf and goat to tote
he prayed to his God, I need a small boat
Then all of sudden sand blew in his eye
and a rumbling voice came out of the sky
F- E- R- R- Y
Now everyone knows that wolf eats goat
and a goat will eat anything especially cabbage
But did you know that nothing rhymes
with cabbage and wolf, except
for wolf and cabbage blah blah blhababage.
So there my friends the problem is solved
if you are able to postulate.
Just carefully follow these simple steps
one, through six, seven and eight.***
1. take the goat over 2. come back get cabbage 3. take cabbage over 4. bring goat back
5. leave goat 6. take the wolf over 7. come back, get goat 8. take goat over again
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
#The house yawned at him
as he trudged to the gate
a warm wind rose from his bowel
and tore his heart out
the walls reflected an emptiness
as if they too mourned with him
*the one face less
the one soul pouring heart's all kindness
forever gone*
paused the son
his eyes grew wet with moisture of rain
the house would never be the same again!#
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
The first line iced with hope; straight from the heart.
Melody striving to impress; the sound of a fresh start,
The world would hear the latent pain- only they listened closely.
And maybe in those happy lyrics, they would see the irony.
No, never with their minds; they only listened with their ears.
Only heard her 'happy' melody; never her unspoken fears.
Sung too many times, her chorus had lost its charm.
'Encore. Encore. It can't possibly do you any harm.'
The winds yelled cruelly, the clouds roared with fury and might.
Trials and tribulations; the universe always ready to pick a fight.
There was no exit from this world- this battlefield of horror,
Where soldiers trudged unarmed, yet unscathed never.
Nostalgia struck; breaking through her unfortified mind.
The prettiest of smiles on her lips; it was time to rewind.
There was no audience; not a soul around to stare.
Singing on the road sans inhibition, she had not a care.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
I was sent to work at the old Repat.
It was forty years since the war,
Those ancient diggers would sit and swear
At the pain of the limbs they wore,
The wounds would open as years went by,
They’d come for another slice,
That war was never over for them,
And morphine was paradise.
I saw one veteran struggle and curse
As he ripped at the buckles and straps,
The new prosthesis had rubbed him raw
As his knee began to relapse.
He tore the leg from his wounded stump
Sat on his bed, and roared,
Then swung the article over his head
And flung it across the ward.
The others had ducked as the leg took off
And bounced off the opposite wall,
‘I’ll have to report you,’ the nurse exclaimed,
‘It’s a good leg, after all!’
‘You wear it then,’ was the man’s response,
‘For it’s driving me insane,
What would you know of Flanders Fields?
You wouldn’t deal with the pain!’
My job was to settle and calm him down
So I asked him about his leg,
‘When and where did you lose it, Dig?’
The veteran tossed his head.
‘You’ve heard of a place called Flanders Fields
Where the bullets came in like hail?
Well, I was there with the Anzac’s, son,
At a place called Passchendaele.’
‘Our Generals were trying to ****** us,
I swear, on my mother’s head,
They kept on sending us over the top
Until half of the men were dead.
The German gunners would enfilade
As we struggled against the mud,
I’ll never forget the battlefield,
It was spattered with bones and blood.
They’d send artillery shells across
At the height of a soldier’s knee,
We’d watch them come as they parted the grass,
They were Grasscutters, you see!
Well, I was running with bayonet fixed
And praying for God’s good grace,
When suddenly I was lying there,
I’d tumbled, flat on my face.’
‘It’s strange that I never felt a thing,
When the Grasscutter got me,
It took a while ‘til I saw my leg
Was gone, from under the knee.
But that was the end of the war for me,
The end of the life I’d known,
I spent some time back in Blighty, then
I came on a ship, back home.’
I never chided those men in there
Though they’d curse and swear, and roar,
For every man was a hero where
They'd trudged in mud through the war.
That Repat. job was a fill-in job
And I left, still young and hale,
But I never forgot the Grasscutter
Or the man from Passchendaele.
David Lewis Paget
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
Across the road
A J-K girl,
Skipped and laughed
On her way to school.
She was strapped
To a big back-pack,
Looking like
A pink pack mule.
Behind her strove
Her drover,
Directing her to quarry
All the stones of learning.
By three o'clock
My minature mule,
A little slower
Trudged from school.
The pack was filled
With rules and tools.
She had panned
The ores of knowledge;
She'll assay them
In days to follow.
Each day my mule
Will turn the grindstone,
Crunching numbers,
Sifting fine poems.
She's mining all the hidden gems
To fill her back-pack
Once again.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
He was sitting at the bar,
not a nice bar at that,
when she walked in
uplifted by the draft
as she let the heavy door
close behind her
draped in a black dress
with black hair
like a shroud
and pale skin
like bones
she sat two stools down from him
and ordered an old fashioned
and necked it down
before ordering another
and another
and another
losing none of her poise
and no sign of flushed cheeks
she made eye contact with him
and for the first time in his life
he knew fear
and he knew he wanted to be scared
He ordered two old fashioned's
and slid a stool over
and told her his name
holding out his hand hopefully
she took it
with dainty fingers
her skin was colder than the creek
that he had been dared to swim in
during the winters of his childhood
"I think we've met before" she said
a voice like a funeral dirge
"so you must come here a lot" he replied
"you could say that,
or you could come back to my place"
he was more than happy to oblige
together they trudged off into the inky night
and he was never seen again,
and the next night
she was back at that bar
drinking old fashioned's
and waiting to be approached
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
You never were a hater,
But you tried to be a player.
You tried to come off cool,
But there's a devil in your lair.
You tried to be a good one,
But they talk behind your back.
They're plotting, they're wotnotting,
And they're planning their attack.
They severed your reality -
They twisted every turn.
They're burning and they're churning,
They don't render what you yearn.
Then panic triggers fever,
And you feel the fever burn.
If they keep on pushing,
Those suckers gonna learn.
Then the witness understands.
There is reason for concern.
There is a new commander -
And oh! The worm has turned.
What could you do?
You never knew.
How could have you?
No-one told you.
Misery is glue,
Sticks to you.
You never were a villain
Till they clotted up your chill.
You never needed anyone
To tell you what you feel.
They only know to validate
Themselves - they never love.
If it suits their motives,
They will bite, and kick and shove.
There never was a heartache
That you could not overcome.
You have to have a heart that's hard.
So go out and get you one.
Trample loosers under foot,
Or they'll be too burdensome.
Keep your left hand from your right,
And keep your lovers under thumb.
Finally, you start to see
That life is just a loaded gun.
You can never stop to rest,
You're always on the run.
What could you do?
You never knew.
How could have you?
No-one told you.
Misery is glue,
Sticks to you.
You master all that you survey, Everybody knows your name.
Cream rises to the top -
You are the winner of the game.
If you gave them half the chance,
They would cut you down.
You forever have to watch your back,
Never let them gather 'round.
You didn't try to rule the world,
You only wanted to survive.
If they had their way,
You would no longer be alive.
Your meter's getting weaker,
But you strive to make it through.
You've trudged thicker purposes,
You always make it through.
They will give it all they've got
When they finally come for you.
You have never had a moment's peace,
'Cause misery is glue.
What could you do?
You never knew.
How could have you?
No-one told you.
Misery is glue,
Sticks to you.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
does hamburger meat stick together because it is still searching for the ghost of it's bones?
in college, i worked in a factory.
i trudged to work every monday morning at five thirty and put on gloves
to plunge into the sticky mess of beef that i weighed and clipped and submerged in.
the meat sticks together and bleeds into the same palm, which is my own.
i am livestock.
i am a nonsensical sticky mass of fat that is being pulled apart by another.
although i am trying to pull myself back together,
the bones i clung to were yours.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
So we soldiered on
Because the lives we led were held on battlefields.
We trudged onward
But it felt like we were stuck there forever
Amidst the crossfire.
Dodging make believe bullets
That whistled sweet melodies to our ears.
We were camouflage.
Trekking undetected
Through the world.
But the war is over.
A few casualties still unaccounted for
On the bloodied floors.
Whatever happened to no man left behind?
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
I lay on the ground below
the curved hips of the hills at sunset
The aperture of my eyes, my *** my eyes
and the narrow escape
of mind from body
I am ten again
and they’re calling me falsey
“Big **** No bra!”
Shoving them into the lockers
of Holy Name’s pool
My eyes? Brown. My hair? Brown
My body? Invisible, lean and “Leave me alone!
or I’ll punch your lights out!”
Meanwhile, Mom is mortified
but not cause I’m banned from the stupid pool
All I want— is to run bare to the waist
Ride my bike, maniacal
Be a bird
Swipe ice from the milk truck
Marvel over maggots in garbage
Catch toads, caterpillars, pollywogs in jars
Later, sell lemonade— get rich!
…and pretend…pretend…
till the litany of our names, hollered from the porch
till the street lights come on….
*****
“This is for something you haven’t got yet”
says the matron of the fitting room
Bones in a bathing suit?
What I haven’t got?
or they haven’t got?
will never get—
in their worlds of curtained cubicles
Cause of death:
Strangulation by measuring tape!
*****
In my plaid two-piece
sunburned shoulders, wind-wild hair
By sweat and the afternoon’s imaginings
I built a fortress of sand and stones
to endure forever….
But she— shook the blanket
at the tide’s full reach
Peppered the air with an epoch
Clouds darkening
the wind-torqued sea
Finding my flip-flops, we—
trudged off…
into the changing… changing
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
Aching legs and laughter
Your hands pulled me on your back and we raced up the hills
I looked down upon his face, his eyes
Suddenly he was on your back too
We were soaring
There lay a little house atop a mountain
Inside it we rejoiced, banishing the mountain trudged
Our music was loud, our laughter louder
Dancing and shouting we galloped falling to a heap on your bed
A thousand candles were lit
Like a blanket of glowing stars
sending us into sweet scented dreams
Only to wake up alone
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
Upon a path of trepidation
Walked I along with hesitation
I trudged forth in contemplation,
Remarking on my indignation.
I felt as though the road would end,
Each step came forth again and again.
To pass the time, I counted sins,
Not religious exactly, just decision’s wind,
I thought of my own life, and how much change
Had plagued my mind and my own cage,
The prison in my head that I live through,
Even though there’s worse that I could do,
I closed that link before I could
Think of things I knew I should,
I “forgot” them throughout the years,
To push away all of my own fears,
With that then settled
The road I reveled.
I noticed the dust on this forgotten trail,
Each step disheveled the dirt so stale,
I noticed I hadn’t been the only one
To walk this trail and be undone,
But I was however the first in a while,
The steps i left behind me were straight and filed.
-
Withered whispering romance had wilted away
A faceless me, within I decayed,
The road was vast and all omniscient,
The weather indeed was quite consistent,
Muggy, dreary, a hint of mist,
Melancholy so, that I wished to be ******
I would have loved to be drunk again
As I had been so before like many men,
To take upon this journey but straight,
Would have felt like bringing train and freight,
It is important to realize
That I was alone and not in guise,
For to find myself, I was myself,
There was only I to seek for help.
-
about three days had passed along,
Wondering if I was even strong
Enough to find the cross in road
To decide which way that I should go,
When in sudden surprise there came,
The cross in road appeared to exclaim,
I could go straight, left or right,
As one would think it might,
But each direction had their own feel,
So much so, I thought it may not be real,
I gazed at each about an hour,
And witnessed their foretelling in my head as they showered.
-
The road ahead was static and unchanging
I found myself to be salivating,
Nervous, the feeling crept on through me,
The sensation of the same emotions, unruling.
I thought of the looming possibility,
That to change anything was not in my ability,
That I would be forced by past to walk this path,
Straight on and forward in a droning, mindless trance.
This startled me and I quickly thought
That I had best my chance be wrought,
Left or right, like straight, I felt both,
Like a voice somewhere inside bequothe,
“Lest ye not choose wrong dear boy,
Or you, I fear, will die empty in ploy.”
Chanting choruses of Gregorian nature
Repeated that stanza in mocking stature,
The repetition to the point of depravity,
I digressed, I became my insanity.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Bare and bruised,
she visited the woods.
Stripped of joy and comfort,
she slowly trudged through her usual path to talk to the trees.
With stretched and open arms
they listened to her
perpetual wail.
Her vision blurry.
Her voice unclear.
The tears have yet to dry.
The grief’s still there to stay.
Then rays of magical light dappled through the trees.
Scattering glitters to the tiny green buds of her favorite sakura trees.
Shining through her heart,
a tiny corner of herself
that’s still her own.
Her sanctuary of patience and strength,
An important refuge that continues to love.
Feb 6, 2023
Feb 6, 2023 at 10:35 AM UTC
The demon fly hath landed now intent upon it's task
**** Demon in its valedictory explorations grasp.
Embedded deep in kidneys, to cause me some concern.
A painful path to endgame and a Hellish lesson learned.
I pause a moment, think it out, it's one way or the other
I lost a mate the other day and last month, lost another.
Seems it is the season for the cataclysmic time
I'd rather it be elsewhere but I fear this one... is mine.
I've run a rough and winding track these rugged years of yore
Pulled the Dragons tail in jest and sought, yet, for more.
Rafted mighty rivers and flew the heavens high
And lifted my perception winging vaulting, clear blue sky.
I've known the velvet touch of love, the softness of her lips
The crash of waves on sandy shore caressing fingertips.
The swelling joy of childbirth, the pledge of mothers milk
And rock like bonds of marriage binding all within its ilk.
With thoughts a million miles away I've trudged this country lane
Pondered why, with voids approach, it engenders me no pain?
Wondering why it matters that the children shed a tear
When saddened, glancing passing eyes, are never really near.
Regret I'll never get to see my grove of rhodos bloom
Or sip the soothing whisky as I tap my toe in tune.
Or launch into the crazy surf and splash out to the rock
Nor lie in sun on baking sand admiring talent flock.
Meat pies with sauce at football with a cold beer in the hand
And the repartee with kindred minds in poetry unplanned,
That flash of inspirations' alliteration sprung
Brings the joy to mind of comradeship in Shakespeare's realm, unsung.
.....And then there's all that's left undone, the words, now, left unsaid
The notes of tragic violin hang in the air...unbled
And you there with the swimming eyes, what do I say to you?
It's all been grand, I kiss your hand....Adieu , my friend.... Adieu!
M.
Foxglove, Taranaki
New Zealand
20 October 2020
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 12:21 AM UTC
#
as she trudged up the mountain
^
/ \
/ \
/ \
/ \
victory pulsing through her veins
badum badum badum badum
her eyes set intently on the peak
a deathly stare
she knew she could do anything
anything at all
she was anything but meek
this world is not for the meek
#
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 7:45 PM UTC
He could not see
What was under his nose
So he plated the thorns
On the Phrygian rose
And there she sat
Barbs glittered - not gilded
Impaled on her spit
Of aureate anvils.
And the pissy-beds
In their plain yellow trappings
Fathometer blips
On a bed of green wrapping
Their ******** halos
Trudged underfoot
As he ground them to mince
In the threads of his boots.
He could only love
What he couldn’t have
What lay free at his feet
Was too common a salve.
But it’s hard to love
What is hard to hold
Thorns will draw blood
Even if covered in gold.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
I've trudged the tracks of righteousness alone
And walked the walk of wickedness with grace.
I've done things I cannot now condone
On either side-- you'd see it in my face.
I thank god for this life which I have wasted
And all the gifts which it has given me,
But how do I repay when I've not tasted
The lavish love of such an old decree?
"By faith" you say. I say "you have it all,
For I'm not one to disbelieve my doubt
But faith? Oh, please don't make me lol.
Betrayal changes what men are all about."
Perhaps god's nothing. I'm fine with it;
Ex nihilo cogitatione fit.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC