"unabated" poems
#there are the ones
that feel it climb up
the shadow towards the light,
hesitation on every rung,
each wave of the arising
overwhelms unabated ―
and woe betides those
who are on the run
from a storm's deluge
A rousing ocean breeze
stirs inside the memory
of an unframed seashell
lying on the hearth mantel;
heightened sensitivity
lapping soundlessly,
spindrift plashing
the shoreline
of another world's
feigned peace
Perhaps the muted voice
of guilty pleasures,
hushed by their own
hidden truths
Feeling the unfelt textures
of every stifled vibration
left unbreathed
The naked truth befallen
so cold and lonely
Running in circles,
volatile as all those
unspoken excitations raging ―
and the whispers of those
who hear not
the voices in the wind
An emotionally enslaved heart
tarries, marooned high and dry
in a memory on a distant sand bar
lain fallow for so long ―
stagnant darkness
of an unsated soul
gathered on the back
of a parched tongue
sullied wordless
Rising up through
a dusty hieroglyph corridor
through an unlocked
labyrinth gate; vestige echoes
from somewhere left behind
in an incomprehensible
abandoned wake
It's getting harder and harder
for an insatiable soul to breathe ...
climbing up a tree trunk―
up within the silence
of the listening tree
Toes dug into
the rough bark furrows ―
fingers reaching upwards
beyond their deepest known grasp
A shadow stranded
out on a hangin' bough
hearkening without ears that hear:
“perhaps they’ll listen now“
the wingless bird sings
in psalms that fly away
on tattered feathers
over untamed waters roil
Back to nature’s waning youth,
the bough bends unbroken
to taste the freedom
of the wild absolving seas
Jesse Stillwater
June 2018
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
the Silence became
like an old lesson learned
a broken heart intones
a voiceless song
resonating a refrain of Silent echoes
in a voice that never heard a word
yet spoke so clearly ... lingering
in realms of subtle ambiance
soundless remnants
stacked neatly as
building blocks;
another brick in a wall,
already too tall to see beyond—
growing like a bunker
without a sense of safe harbor
as the Silence became
time and space,
a stillness beset the melancholy air
as if a world without song
foreboding an unpredictable storm
beget vestiges of broken windfall,
reticent leftovers hushed after a gale
s i l e n t l y
an acorn fallen — became a mighty Oak
a wind-broke twig — became a weeping willow
a neglected child — became mother nature's son
the Silence became
a blind prophet —
in its voice held forth
smatterings of truth
and undertones of an unrequited
fool’s hope
the Silence became
a strong, abrupt rush of wind
uttering voiceless exhalations of breath;
a hovering dawn mist
befallen after a summer storm—
surrounding all in all
bedewed in a feigned peace
... the unabated sounds of silence
become
Jesse Stillwater ... July 20th, 2018
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
Kashmir Delirium
Oh People Of Earth! Thankful are we,
For each act of benevolence shown to us.
Your gilded sweet words describing,
The beauty of Kasmir, land and people.
Mention in books and talks of it's riches,
Naming it the Sweet Paradise Of Earth.
The Lord has been bountiful to Kashmir,
Treasure of resources in every sphere.
To elevate each aspect, our wish for life,
As every acre of this land is worth millions.
Full of treasures and recreational value,
Forestry with grandeur and silvery rivers.
The outside world's view is so limited,
Simple folks living in the lap of rich bounty.
Mentioned in world forums and organizations,
But what of the goal of giving us freedom?
What has The UN established in our name?
To measure the pain and anguish we bear,
At the hands, of our supposed benefactors.
The saviours who has us fractured.
But in reality they train their enforcers,
In the art of creating oceans of tears.
The red blood now hidden in camouflage,
The spent shells now gathered and hidden.
The leaders we are told to elect in electoral shams,
Run publicity kiosks and swell friend lists.
Joint conferences to address personal interests
Dialogues that never address the root issues.
Just the formalities and no sympathy,
For the ones burnt in cruel sadistic reprisals.
The hypocrisy continues deliriously unabated,
More augmentation of the security forces.
For a first hand view of deep hypocrisy,
Walk this land, you know as beautiful.
Religious leaders will teach you political artistry,
Sermons full of ambiguity and guile.
Waywardness and narrow mindedness on display,
Political apologists give great lessons.
Religion and religious ethnicity are tools,
That keep minds and bodies in total check.
Gamesmanship by leaders is the rule of thumb,
As promises are forgotten once office is obtained.
When writing of this succulent beautiful land,
Write of the air, pregnant with sadistic practices.
This land is being stripped of worldly treasures,
And the greatest treasure is mistreated daily.
The best of nation is the inhabitants,
Ignored are the real gems of this beautiful paradise.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
"Over here"...
but nothing.
The scene continues
unabated by my presence.
Plastic smiles and lustful eyes
bountiful but not for me..never me.
In the mirror' s unforgiving gaze
I am unrecognizable
Replaced with a crude rendering
of my previous likeness
fashioned by children
with lumpy imperfect clay.
Silence replaces loving laughter
that used to follow my witty banter.
Silence and stares. Sympathetic stares
tinged with smugness and fear.
"Over here...over here..."
still nothing.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
The street
filled with tomatoes,
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
****** it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhaustible,
populates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth, recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.
11.4k
Everlasting love is a commitment Ref 008
Everlasting love is a commitment.
Virtual reality cannot ever compare
Everlasting reality is my love for you
Reality that continues unabated
Longer than affairs of the heart
As my darling I know you by heart
Since the first Happy days meeting
The first day of the rest of my life
I discovered an everlasting love
Not withstanding your aloof brow
Golden are the moments shared
Love's unconditional commitment
Only true lovers understand it .
Very close encounters promote it
Especially within thy noble form
I love you so much my Barbara
So much once to inspire my mind
As constant is my wish to praise
Composing lines of loving prose
On each and every living day.
My mind races with the inspiration
Mastering words of literary giants
In songs of praise dedicated to thee
Then understand my commitment
My commitment ,to my darling girl
Everlasting love is my commitment
Not just for now but forever always
Thank you for our life commitment
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Philip.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC
timber habitats are vanishing, on the Earth's mass
timber habitats are vanishing, on the Earth's mass
bulldozers and axes, lethal their mix
bulldozers and axes, lethal their mix
on the Earth's mass, bulldozers and axes
vanishing timber habitats, lethal their mix
the number one priority, where is the preserving and conserving
the number one priority, where is the preserving and conserving
tree dwelling creatures, served eviction from their homes
tree dwelling creatures, served eviction from their homes
preserving and conserving, tree dwelling creatures homes
from eviction, the number one priority
tree felling goes on unabated, wooded residencies destroyed
tree feeling goes on unabated, wooded residencies destroyed
profits to be ever reaped, satiating the logger's greed
profits to be ever reaped, satiating the logger's greed
unabated the logger's tree felling goes on
satiating greed destroyed, wooded residencies reaped
wood residencies destroyed, on the Earth's mass
served eviction from their homes, tree dwelling creatures
timbered habitats are vanishing, the number one priority
profits to be ever reaped ,bulldozers and axes lethal their mix
tree felling goes on unabated, satiating the logger's greed
where is the preserving and conserving?
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
Everlasting love is a commitment
Everlasting love is a commitment.
Virtual reality cannot ever compare
Everlasting reality is my love for you
Reality that continues unabated
Longer than affairs of the heart
As my darling I know you by heart
Since the first Happy days meeting
The first day of the rest of my life
I discovered an everlasting love
Not withstanding your aloof brow
Golden are the moments shared
Love's unconditional commitment
Only true lovers understand it .
Very close encounters promote it
Especially within thy noble form
I love you so much my Barbara
So much once to inspire my mind
As constant is my wish to praise
Composing lines of loving prose
On each and every living day.
My mind races with the inspiration
Mastering words of literary giants
In songs of praise dedicated to thee
Then understand my commitment
My commitment ,to my darling girl
Everlasting love is my commitment
Not just for now but forever always
Thank you for our life commitment
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Philip. 22nd January. 2017
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
Once I looked to the Bard for words profound;
ageless, his wisdom ran unabated.
Yet Hamlet is now ideologically unsound,
“the slings and arrows” historically Iocated.
I wept for the creature of Frankenstein,
spurned by his master, forced to roam the Earth.
But I’d been subjectively positioned in a paradigm
by Mary’s anxiety about childbirth.
I read Balzac, Hardy and Henry James
describing “worlds” which seemed quite sensible.
Now Eagleton’s exposed their bourgeois games
I find them morally reprehensible.
I dreamt of being Robinson Crusoe
or proud, fierce Hawkeye in his buckskins dressed,
but Fenimore and Defoe have to go,
they’re culturally encoded and empirically obsessed.
Inspired by Guinness, did James Joyce sit down
to see what magic flowed when he was ******
The stream of Ulysses floats Bloom-about-town
dreamthinkingnever : “I’mamodernist”.
I’d gladly give Woolf a Room of Her Own
and be one of the boys with Hemingway,
but sensitive guys leave their bulls alone
say de Beauvoir and Luce Irigaray.
No more fun with Wordsworth being daffodilly,
no simple pleasure reading Mickey Mouse;
Steamboat Willie can’t help but look silly
dissected by Foucault and Levi-Strauss.
The Bible shows intertextuality
says the two Jacques, Lacan and Derrida.
Judas, a construct of bisexuality?
The **** fixations of Herod are?
It’s got so bad I deconstruct a holiday brochure.
I can’t even **** without Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
Different strokes for different folks, but if I stuttered when I spoke, there is a reason why I wrote, and if you think that I'm a joke, then stroke me, stroke me...
Empirical lyrically virile and viral a warrior reborn like he's gone out of style,
a rage unabated both non-syncopated and internal/external no meter's abated!
You wanted an anthem?
You wanted a cause?
You wanted a figure to even the odds?
You thought I was kidding
but now you're admitting that
I am the chosen whose broken the clause!
Rising in status, my main apparatus, the attitude: platitudes lack the finesse!
I'm searching for perfect not anything less!
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
Melding the milieus of millions and millions of masses who clash for the chance for the cash,
when all that was needed was truth to believe in, significance outed, you puppet let's dance!
No bragging, no lagging, and no more sandbagging, the hustle is over, your tussle is weak!
For soon we will savor the end of your flavor, fifteen minutes over, your outlook is bleak.
I'm nobody's pigeon hole, nobody's fool, I've seen quite my share of arrogant tools,
but here are the statements that lead me to greatness:
love me or hate me, go on instigate me, ignore me and gasp when you hear of my rule!
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
Now join me in raising a fist to the sky,
and pound upon pressure to powers that lie.
Make diamonds of rhyme-ends and squelter your silence
to pierce through the casket that left us so quiet.
Their reign is run dry, and nobody buys it, let's hit this at home so they cannot supply it.
Prepare the artillery pack in your fire, you're gonna need it , if the bars get any higher,
now hear from the jokee, I dare you provoke me, you still talking **** well stroke me, stroke me.
I'm raring to stage an incredible coup, there just ain't a limit to what I can do!
**I'm willing to take it for me and for you, THERE'S NO ******* LIMIT TO WHAT WE CAN DO!**
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
“^Betam ewodihalehu”, The man stares down at his lover.
“I haven’t seen you in so long”, He says, recalling the last time.
They were celebrating their anniversary, taking a trip to ^Addis Ababa,
Eyes shining brilliantly, skin warm under the sun, their hands linked,
Wearing a pink necklace.
They’d sat under their favorite tree, the one he’d proposed under,
The one he’d napped under, head in his lover’s lap
Staring up into cocoa eyes.
Staring up at the happiness dancing in those eyes.
He woke up and looked at the empty space on the bed.
Something was missing.
He made breakfast for two.
Someone was missing.
He found him under their tree, dancing,
With a German necklace around his neck
Choking the happiness out of his sweet eyes.
“^The Western disease”, they said.
The man wondered if these times are really so different,
From the disturbing death of love in concentration camps,
Pink triangles pinned to lifeless frames,
From the accusations of being non-German just because
They didn’t show the same love.
He wondered why the world must be so hateful
That he had feared to hold his lover’s hand,
How so many had lost their lives in the name of
A warm, innocent, love that was no different
From their prosecutor’s.
He stares at the fresh ground, the wooden cross,
Feels the cold air chilling his face,
And wonders why of all the things,
The glorious history that his home contained,
They’d had to inherit the ********
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
I pull out your picture
Smooth skin and hazel eyes
Even in photographs they hypnotize
Calling my name in whispers
Pounding at my *****
Electric shocks to the groin
Waking the senses
Feeling revived
Revitalized, alive
There, ever unchanged
Your gaze upon mine
Motionless, emotionless
Frozen, in time
When you realized I was she
Perfection
Unwavering
An alternate reality
Returning affection
A two way street of romantic love
Unseen. Unnoticed. Unrealized
Yet real just the same
Innocent, unthinking
With no one to blame
Knowing you want me
That you always did
Nothing but glimpses
Of an awkward kid
Turned man
Turned desire
Lascivious by design
Liquifying resistance
Wasting no time
A bit of shy
A hint of coy
Vanish all remnants
Of that innocent boy
By the light of the screen
I lay here
Alone
Feeling the heat of you
Making me moan
Desire unabated
I finish unsated
Abusing your picture
In ways you condone
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC
There are days
when my soul feels
stretched out
like a ribbon
emotions
hang
ing
from a thread
on the line,
like laundry, for
all to see, on pegs
vulnerable
in storms
letting wind caress
and sometimes whip them
round in beaten time
like a tempest
They tend to
get bruised, secretly
battered internally
as the surface of me smiles
and marches on
Vocal chords tightening
as the larynx longs
in primal urge
to take out the words
in one long
graceful arc
of purge
On these days I
need to sit
in the cloudforms
of my mind's eye
and let myself feel
what I cannot show:
the daily coldness gnawing
at my innards
blow by icy blow
In these hours
I must let the tears
well up and run down
until the sting of salt
penetrates the glacier
let the significance of
unspoken words
rise up from
the deep dermis layers
into my throat, my tonsils
up to the palate and tongue
out through my lips
to the heavens,
releasing the unsung
those words caught within
the walls of my neck -
they almost make me choke
exhaust contamination
from heavy, unseen smoke
It billows up and out
and soon, like
hard-worked magic
this morse code is busted
because I am sick of feeling tragic
I command clear
communication
to filter through
the spasms of fog
in drops of dew
I command my words to be heard
in tiny spikes of sun
And all the while
in clear spirals,
a prayer commences to
be spun:
for the harsh
and bitter
be flushed out
in unabated, icy rush
for my soul to rise up
for the cleansing
in aching spirit blush
for the painfulness
of silence
to be ground out
upon the floor
for the shadows of
the violence
to be obliterated
to the
core
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
1709
With sweetness unabated
Informed the hour had come
With no remiss of triumph
The autumn started home
Her home to be with Nature
As competition done
By influential kinsmen
Invited to return—
In supplements of Purple
An adequate repast
In heavenly reviewing
Her residue be past—
2.2k
*Tears as brittle
As glass cascade lazily down
Her rosy cheeks leaving behind
Indelible outstanding imprints
They reveal a brokenness
A vulnerability that’s so
Sweet and scary almost
In equal measure
Her eyes know not the
Splendor of a radiant sparkle
They downcast and a
Shade darker than normal
Naivety meekness and innocence
Jostle unabated within her eyes bounds
But seldom if never
Do her fears see the light of day
Her eyes speak a dialect
That would mind boggle linguists
Of reasonable repute
And render them obsolete
She undoubtedly a goddess
Of pure emotion and acute sensitivity*
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
There was a fog that seemed to hover thickly
over the perceived salience of his musings
It was as if there were a veiled mystique
that left hopeful understanding ,
ambiguously obscured ...
His soul's cadences fell beyond the pale ,
like a reverberant iron bell’s clamor ,
drowning acumen ;
albeit , unmistakabe crystal clear allusions ,
scanning inwardly, rhapsody in his mind's eye
Illusive accord ,
beclouded by seeming stigmas
borne of the flesh ;
delicately sensitive nuances ,
misunderstood imperfections ,
bespoken utterance weighed heavy upon heart ...
In the hush of pensive repose ,
flow of soul streamed forth from its retreat within ;
bequeathed as if darkness
was magnetically drawn towards light ,
purging muted understanding ...
Assuredly seeking all questions with verve ,
accepting , that all answers sought
are not meant to be understood
A realization of those who wish to speak yet abide unspoken ;
the unseen mark of those that wished they had been loved ,
befallen the music of a thundering heartbeat ,
understanding a circle is vulnerable ,
only makes it stronger ―
hence ,..
it had been written
in countless misunderstood ways ...
Knowing he resists an inner-voice to endure silently
for a fear of that which remains indelibly writ ,
tattooed on introspective walls
far removed from the afterglow of light ,
where depth of soul yearns to be freed ;
heart speak hushed , deft words avowed
in enigmatic tongues ― Vayu doth whisper
soul's prevailing tides ebb and flow
from unseen depths , permeating
deeply within inner realms
The spirit of soul once steeped his heart’s intone :
"Spell words that bind together passing strangers
*Coalesce thoughts to inspirit those whom often walk alone
Append the goodwill of poetry, aspiring to bond individual
hearts and minds with words of love and light.
Conjure written spells to bespeak sincerely ,
a faith in unabated love*"
and yet , he will write it again and again ,.. searching beyond words
…words grasped from emerging thoughts
drawn in to the light
searching for other adept words
to recite yet another way ,
sketch another word-scape ,
written with the relentless inexhaustibleness
of an unstoppable awakening ...
Another winter dawn imbues a new day come to light
he will write it again and again ,
... finding another way to be set free ...
Harlon Rivers
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
Death gives no rest to my cluttered mind. Death is my enemy! Even in slumber death claws to infect my dreams with its poison called nothingness! So I locked death in the depths of my heart in a chest marked fear. I put on different worldly masks… called college, travel, success, accolades, fiancé, money, sex….I used them to hide my shame but each one was cold blue and hypothermic. Yet in them I felt comfortable at the expense of lost potential and false identity. In frostbites pinnacle my only unbreakable mask shattered…..I lost my Love…………The wailing echoes of delusion shook me frigid till my raw bones shattered the question. Who am I? The undercurrent of desperation violently hydrated my reflection on the dark waters of my soul! I am faceless! Without a face who am I! Death take me now, for I am already nothing! From below came a vibration that graced my reflection with an ear, a lash and a deep iris.. then windows to my soul sprang and a smile dripped in unabated rejoice…I’m alive!!!! Who has done this?! Show your face, for you are my dearest friend! Without words death was shaken loose to the depressing reality of dipped anxiety. From behind my many masks I could see Death. For the first time I face you! Your eyes paint the familiar threat that casts me into the obis of nothingness but without you life was delusional meaninglessness! Because of your death threats my life has a face. Death is my Enemy and my Friend……………..Jesus conquered death so through it I may learn the meaning of His Love and who I really am......now to take down more of my masks……easier said than done....Praise Jesus.........To be continued……………….
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
Arapaho Bride, Chieftains Dearest.
Early Fortnight, Gros Ventre Headdress.
Indian Jubilee, Kindred Lavishment.
Mornings Noontide Oluksak Pulls Quiet River Streams, Terrapins.
Unabated Vas deferens Wedding Xyris Young-begetting, Zea mays rugosa.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
See Seesaw Sea, Swing in ecstasy
Rhythmic tides, Rhyming strokes
Soothing breeze, Pleasing nodes
Surfing banks, Boxing waves
Tiding ebbs, Ebbing tides
Unabated buzz, Ferry minds
Merry crowds, Downing sun
Cooling beach, Evening dawns
Immolating sun, Immortal journey
On double shift,
Off side wakeup call,
On side adieu
Pushed up moon as a parting gift
On alighting night
Good oh the heavens!
Kudos to the Ocean Park.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
We are taught to be goal oriented at an early age...
Learn to share and others will share with you
Eat your vegetables and you can have dessert
Finish your homework and you can play outside
Through adolescence and into adulthood, the conditioning occurs unabated...
Practice hard and you will make the team
Score well on tests and you will place into a good university
Keep your nose to the grindstone and success in career will follow
Is it any wonder many religions fit the same mold?
Do onto others as you would have them do onto you,
but, hey, the real payoff will come in the afterlife
Have you ever wondered what would change if the future
was not quite so clear,
perhaps a little fuzzy,
even uncertain?
What if you knew now,
that you would not be given your place above the clouds,
an eternity of bliss,
a value proposition that cannot be surpassed?
What if all there was is what is,
our time together,
our relationships,
our ability to do right on this earth simply
to enable others to grow,
to thrive,
and to be happy?
Would you...change your plans? Change your master scheme?
If and when a judgment day comes,
who will be the more pure of heart....
the one that is once again striving for the goal
or the one that is acting simply for the reason that
it is the right thing to do?
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 8:16 AM UTC
Eating ' Grass', achtung! was a serious business,
if you think I was a vegan gone mad, I wasn't
In one go I devoured his "Tin drum", oh! Oskar!
felt enchanted, loved Grass, looked for more,
finished "Cat and mouse" next, sought further,
then"Crab walk"ed through "Dog years", delighted!
with the wish list in front, I continued to
go for Grass, an eating spree unabated.
Now the hullabaloo over my love for Grass subdued.
who wouldn't see what
Guntar Grass in German, was doing
to my voracious literary hunger.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
then I am wearing black suit,
white shirt, black tie,
pockets full of tissues,
most crumpled, mostly used,
like my spirits
If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
in a baptist church,
a nice jewish boy,
fixing his askewed tie,
doing what
The Lord commanded of him
If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
sunny and 72 Farenheit,
inside of me its a different forecast,
y'all decide the condition,
the condition I'm in
I'm in the way back row,
humming so softly,
me and Johnny C.
nobody hears,
nobody cares,
*She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
But sometimes at night when the cold wind moans
In a long black veil she cries over my bones
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave where the night winds wail
Nobody knows, no and nobody sees
Nobody knows but me*
nobody knows, I am there,
nobody sees, nobody believes,
but god only knows I am here
my spirit taken here
unasked, unaided, unabated
did not have to fly,
the ship that was to take me,
busted on the rocks
for
*the words that are used
to get the ship confused
will not be understood as they’re spoken
for the chains of the sea
will have busted in the night,
will be buried at
the bottom of the ocean*
still
If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
at a funeral,
my words gone silent,
even store bought stock phrases,
so sorry for your loss,
not for sale, all gone, all aloft,
all sold out on
this Sabbath day
If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
in some form of which
not readily acquainted,
my new context a riddle,
never knew this morphosis
till now, until
it was needed,
all on that day
If it's 2:45pm
can't understand
all these people standing
over me, and the sidewalk
taste in my my mouth
it appears I appeared
on east 57th street
in my New York City,
it appears I appeared
to have
fainted dead away,
asking me not where how or when,
only why,
and I have no answers for
them or me or anybody who dare asks
a quest,
commencing and ending in
why
must have been the heat,
but decide then and there
maybe go visit
my Jordan and
my grand children
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
I was once a castaway
Of an unforgiving sea
I made a castle in the sand
To ease the pain in me
I made the ramparts ten feet tall
The walls were four feet thick
I filled the moat with lots of sharks
I built it brick by brick
I walked the walls most every day
No rescuer about
But I did not want folks to come in
I wished to keep them out!
The sand was cast in hate you see
The mortar my foe's blood
I repaired the walls quite often 'coz
My inner tears would flood
Within the walls, a prisoner,
My anger was my meat
My only water my own tears
They washed about my feet
Finally the water rose,
From weeping, o'r my head
Their waves erroded at the walls
And the SEA was fed!
Whilst the walls were quickly shrinking
A tide, like floods, came in!
All the sharks went out to sea,
My destiny was grim!
I made a fine, tall castle, yes,
Of sand & shells & grout
To shelter me within? Oh no!
To keep my loved ones OUT!
And others unforgiven.
And the ones I hated.
And other prejudices, yes,
That went on unabated...
And so I found a Mighty Rock
Upon which I stood.
I finally found life's meaning, *YES!
I finally understood!*
Forgiveness? A DECISION.
To put pride on the shelf.
And freeing up your fellow man
You become FREE YOURSELF.
Though for years, I drank my tears,
My thirst was never slaked.
And hatred's fused & melted sand
Does not a DIAMOND MAKE.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/3/2017
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 10:21 PM UTC
*Silky petals
Gliding aroma
Dripping honey
Eager wait
Rekindled passion
Trickling
Soft beads
Shimmering
Early dawn
Unabated frenzy
Deluged
With love
Drenched souls*
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
We met
In a deserted street
In Kabul, capital of Afghanistan, In the next incarnation.
Thereon,
A tee shirt , with the legend
“The lovers in this incarnation
Belonged to two populations
That were at war in the last one”
Walked by.
I realized that day
That your gaze
Was a bullet
Of hatred and vengeance
Left over from unabated fury
Even after firing six times that day
And you told me
That my words
Were like
The satisfaction of chopping repeatedly,
A body long dead
Still,
When you saw popcorn on the wayside,
Why did you offer to get it?
Why did you coo, ‘what’s wrong, dear’ when I sighed?
I am clueless!
you asked
How we separated
The first time it was because the flame flared up
When lighting a taper
Once it was because the phone rang while kissing.
There was some stain on my shirt when we met in a dream
.....
.......
For asking
For not asking
For calling, not calling,
For sighing,
For laughing, for whimpering,
For crying, for eating, for not eating,
For sending, for not wishing to send,
For going to the toilet
Without asking permission
For saying a prayer for mother and children
Must have died together on that day.
The anxiety was not
About who would look after you
If I died first,
But who all will look at you!
Must have killed
If not that, God would have interfered
Whatever the rock on which it is built,
God would upset it with an earthquake if nothing else.
God and His strange ways!
In the Afghan capital city of Kabul,
It is the same us who killed with love in this fashion
When you exclaimed
“How lovely this city is”,
I lighted another cigarette
This time, another tee shirt
With the legend “I am not even born”
Passes by
I remembered
The two lines you told me
in the last incarnation,
Four days before Christmas,
A Thursday evening,
At 5:41.
I laughed without telling you that.
You gave me a kiss.
Author Notes
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC