"wailings" poems
winter's after-the-noon shadow lights,
fused-tinged with early-onset grays,
harbinger of one for whom death
detaches the answer from that question
too soon asked, so long unanswered,
why me?
those gray lights, a violin accompaniment,
mourning pitched wailings unasked for,
yet always in attendance, court courtiers,
feelings of insufficiency, angry angst insects
envy days when simplistic unknown fears
were the worst enemy, never lingering,
for unknowns have no answers and
cannot obtain permanent resident visas
but reality, another matter, mad hatter,
asking repeating what is this, why is this,
even comprehension partial gives
no comforting answer satisfactory logical
envy innocence past, for newer questions now *****
comfort by the lies in the essaying, trialling,
if, but, for, the distractions most affordable,
so grasp the pen that is the envy of thy companions
let the ink wail louder than you,
make paper shed what you have used up,
let envy of lost and found, found, yet still lost,
salve, but not solve, soothe, but not save
in the winter afternoons, those shortest days
of indeterminable longevity, words received,
offer little, but words self-conscripted,
a mortal transcript of pain immortalized by pen, relief will yet be,
for the pen is the envy of all
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
an impurity
inherent or invasive,
identity, purpose, all unresolved,
substantive, long-lived, minute sized,
flexible, formed, yet more,
clearly shapelessly, so well visible
we'll disguise it
to survive it
without passport, an émigré
illegally legal border invasive,
but somehow more knowledgable
of the unmapped byways within,
more than me - how can that be?
never motionless, indeed,
always hurried, even when energy gathering,
despite it's detailed timetable,
detailing plentiful stops and
interminable unexplained
screeching wailings,
it has no smooth gliding,
nor rumbling grumbling halting,
to a final destination imprinted
this impurity,
a beheaded brainy horseman
searching for what,
I'm not permissioned,
unquenchable questioning,
all I am allowed is
sensory
surceasingly, unseasonably seeking
the undresser,
the verisign
of veritas
eyes mirrored reversal internal,
you can't understand why finishing
this poem is so hard
because you don't want to
confess this
impious impurity,
no étranger, it is but
copious insecurity,
of the all of you,
the ecstasy of
the rushing,
the upsetting,
universal unique to us, you,
unholy, ecclesiastical, catholic,
that impurity is just
the heart pumping the
mottled blood of
life coursing through your words
and out your fingertips,
onto those
stained drumsticks
used
to play the keyboard alphabet
about an
out-of-tempo
impure ecstasy
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Life isn’t enough.
I want 10 more
I want 10 penises and 10 *******
I want 10 guns and 10 crosses
I want 10 children and 10 homes
I want 10 friends and 10 enemies
I want more of everything and now
The gamma rays and the cosmic nothingness
The icy chill and solar flares
The Big Expanse and Big Crunch
I CRAVE the universe
ALL of it
To funnel through me
Like water through a hose
Or electricity through a cable
Or sunlight through a magnifying glass
I am wired
With LIFE
With music, and wine, and kisses
With silence, hangovers, and wishes
I want to consume
Like Horace
the very sun, the very underworld
Engulf dreams, nightmares, and mortality between
Like plumes of obsidian perfume
Sacrifice virgins and assassins
Dig up graves and wheel them into churches
Dig up stones and throw them at CIA vans
I want to rage
Smear my blood all over eggshells
Feces on W2 forms
Give me more thunderclap and ******** wailings
Charge me with the ravenous gasp
To breathe, to bellow
To love in bolted totality
To strike and revel
I hold the goblet out
Shimmering and trembling
For you
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:58 AM UTC
I have been in the land of the dead,
Green valley of infertility, with no end in sight
Where end the flights of steps, reigns eternal night.
But a night it is unlike any on the earth
For a suffused light pervades the horizon for hopes to birth
That on this land though echoes, the wailings of the dead,
Yet can herald a new beginning from life’s leftover thread!
I stood on a high wall and as far as my eyes could see
Walls stretched beyond farthest limits of vision’s boundary
Between them lay bottomless wells glowing with red hot coals
In those abyss moved burning flesh cindering tortured souls!
As I flew over those pits of doom saw many a flaming hand
Waving up in one last bid to be carried away from this land
I couldn’t help them nor save them from their tormentor
I had come here in my dream, just as a passing visitor!
Scared by the hellish sights, I thought it wouldn’t be wise
To foray afar, see more of it, but from dream I must rise
As I turned to leave, in those pits I saw, blue ocean and the sky
Where fleshes burn every moment, desires rot and die!
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
I have cried the tears of the distress,
Borne the pain of the hurt,
Felt the loneliness of the bereaved,
And the agony of the distraught;
I have bled the blood of the pierced,
Borne the pain of the broken-hearted,
Endured the shame of the abused,
And the confusion of the disappointed;
A black cross inprinted on my back,
Wailings of little children haunt me,
Ashes of loved ones in my sack,
And many skulls and bones to bury;
Crows dominate my chapel at day,
And owls are my visitors at night,
Dragons parade the burning altar,
Bats above blur the moonlight;
Eyes that see in darkness- answer me,
My past unchanged but my future- re-design,
Illuminate the path way that lies ahead,
Give me a third eye and make me divine;
Find me before my throat is slit
The murderers of my loved ones visits,
They call out from the enchanted woods,
Prepared to tear me to innumerable pieces;
Take me to the lake and hang me,
Before the horrors of the dark prevail,
And the termites in my grave rejoice,
Let me drown in the sacred grail;
Let the witches wail in surprise,
When their cauldron becomes empty,
And their synagogues come to ruin,
While i rise to everlasting suprimacy.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
Amid the rustles of leaves,
he strains his ears
to hear the footsteps
gone before him.
Through the web of mist
that rises from under his feet,
his eyes probe intensely
for the trail of the traveller
he walked with yesterday.
The jungle stiffly silent
hides the secret deep within
veiling it in dark shrubs.
The man feels a smoke
rise in his eyes,
‘where is the traveller,
who just the day before,
walked with me? ’
His questions
more like wailings
rend the unresponding wind.
Before him as far as the eyes go
stretches the unending path.
He begins the search once again
not knowing
the next traveller is on his trail.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 7:40 AM UTC
Another morning I’ve been sentenced,
feeling verb-less,
incomplete,
with my darling noun
I only let down,
when I feel like a child with a numb grip,
dragging him against the ground.
I watch him sleep, my sweet,
shimmering sun against the periwinkle morning
and all glows quiet . . .
but my muck of thoughts smell of rot,
with shadows of vicious vultures—
their black feathers buzzing with dooming vibrations—
smearing their gray against it all.
They’ve grown bored with the feed of palatable pity.
Their cravings threaten to gulp his gushing, golden heart,
bury it in the muck that wishes to swallow my temple.
I think of his holy water and bathe in it;
Thinking in his tears keeps me strong
and carries me down stream.
Each salty orb
wipes the grim and the grime
and refracts the light from his treasure,
his heart, casting
the rainbows that fire
arrows at the shadows.
I find my purpose in the thought of your wailings and weepings,
and I promise I’ll never lose your heart to grief.
Sorry the pillow is wet.
I’ve been crying in your sleep.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 8:27 PM UTC
Silence.
Loud music, high pitched screams
Infant wailings, adult shrills
The cacophony of it all
Silence.
Surrounded by it all
Silence?
Absence of these?
Or peace within me?
My silence, perfect
Silence
Whirring fans, revving engines
Croaking frogs, buzzing flies
The beautiful discord of it all
Silence
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
“Ring-a-ring-a-rosie,” we screamed
holding hands in circles. We laughed,
fell, tumbled when the end came
and rolled about in the thick grass.
Mothers would scold us and click
their tongues. Big sighs came;
we knew the games were over
and retired the evening inside.
At night I played the game myself,
pulled on my teddy bear’s arms
and loudly whispered the rhyme
as I danced around my room.
Like a possessed child I danced,
fully drunk in the night’s vigour
until there came the trumpets,
slowly gathering pace outside.
They became louder. So did I.
I twirled as the house shook,
span around me and laughed
until it all blurred violently.
The sound was deafening
much like my heart in my ears.
Ba-doomph. Ba-doomph.
The explosions rattled me
as wailings came and cawed,
but I carried on in my fever:
“We all fall down” I said, dizzy.
I knew I wouldn’t dance again.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 8:24 AM UTC
Thanx for the crumbs they taste great, they are a little green though. **** it I don't want crumbs, I don't want a piece of the pie, I want the whole **** thing.
Thanx for the bone, I gnawed on it all day, though I it was a bit green too. I'm sick of the bones, and I don't want scraps from your self indulgent plate. I want the whole **** steak.
Thanx for wasting my time. It took a while to do but I got it done and it was good but you wasted it anyway. Now I think I will Just burn it. I'm sure you wont mind, it's of no consequence to you.
They don't understand, That was my foot in the door that just got slammed in my face. Oh sure you'll use it on a secondary nature, tertiary at best. No prominence there, I guess you don't think the for front is good enough for the sounds you'll be making. Mine sounds are wailings.
Thanx for investing in me only to pull your offer back then wag it under my nose like yer teasing a dog. Its nice to know you believe in what I do. Its okay though, really, I can handle.another scar. They just add character.
But hey you gotta go with what's gonna work best for Your bottom line to pad your pockets, ***** the little Guy, He don't need to catch a break even if he shows he can do it the hard way. It was only my foot in the door but its okay, you didn't break it when you slammed the door shut on my face.
Thanx for your crumbs and bones. They taste great.
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 10:18 AM UTC
**** you internet,
Stop picking roses and asking me to ignore the thorns,
Cut off their heads,
Give me the thorns,
I don’t need to make myself smell sweet for you,
Empty head,
Brain dead,
Fill it up with faults in our stars and the perks of being a wallflower,
We all know ants can carry away common sense,
If there are enough of the *******
But don’t peg me as a simpering idiot,
Sitting in the dark waiting for poetry to illuminate demise,
I’m not black and white, tears rolling, all alone,
Go **** your rusty razors,
I don’t need anyone to kiss my scars,
I am forty thousand thunderstorms,
I destroy what I want and I will always make you run for cover,
I will use all my energy to summon starving rain,
Just to make everything feel normal,
I have been my own casualty and I have been my own champion,
But victim isn’t in my vocabulary,
I never wrote wailings on white,
Or measured my problems in aesthetics and ‘reblogs’,
You are not ‘beautifully broken’,
Love is not masked by exquisite pain,
And I don’t believe in the charms of your never ending night,
Because the sun always rises,
And I would rather let it burn me up,
Then lurk in the shadows like you.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
REMEMBER US THIS WAY
I look back on the memories we’ve had sometimes ago
When life was free for every one of us, both young and old
When hiding in dilapidated buildings wasn’t a survival technique
And death was from nature, not a man-made epidemic
When our young ones were free to go to school, grow up and become men who’ll rule
And the dead sons of our land weren’t having their cadavers along the road-path
When our daughters were whole to be married
And not hampered like now as they have to be carried
I’ll look back on the time happiness was never far from our sides
And joy wasn’t gotten from seeing our enemies die
I’ll look back on the building up front
With so many moments had therein, good and bad, all that we hold fond
I’ll remember that fahir was in us too
But now, as soon as the day brings itself new
I’ll see that the brother I’ve had my whole life is gone
To his end of time at the mercy of a sniper’s shot
I’ll go to the death-counter, and see another sun’s been decimated
And another light has just been put off
All for what?
The land,
Power,
Money,
Or religion?
Another 12-Year’ld has just been laid to rest
With his mother wailings as the day before yesterday, he laid on her chest,
Promised her “I will grow up, become a feared militant and put the wars to an end”
But, he has just been pushed off of earth
We had holidays
Now only morning days
Yet as the dust fills our faces
We’ll hold on to our faith
For someday, we shall all together, say
“It was all yesterday”
So for this, I’ll always remember us this way!
From a friend that cares,
©Emmiasky Ojex
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 5:30 AM UTC
Once as the Cape Fear River
Was being overflowed with
It's strange brew , a traditional mint
The color of fallen brown tears
A aroma of green tea over rice
A particular unknown fragrance
An Ancient river lacks
Of other sweet scents erased
The heart of the Hurricane is fading
Yet you were once a women
Just as you were once named after a man
You were once a women
Just as you were once named after a man
You are a women just as you are a man
Tea over rice
A cup of tea
The background of operatic wailings
A chilling before the haunting chords
A cup of tea for me
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
There is not much luxury
within the four walls of my territory
but, this is where steel arrows,
and sharp shiny daggers invisibly fly
i feel the winds blow...strong and gentle
though the drapes and blinds do not move at all
there's a lot to hear outside
-------far and deep...into the night-------
from a not so distant place
i hear the cries of a newborn baby,
waiting...maybe, to be breastfed by her mother,
or be coaxed by the ****** of the feeding bottle...
there goes those softened footfalls on the street,
or maybe, just outside the house, could be next door;
a swish of air usually signals the onset
of the suicidal activities of the bats;
the eager voices of a family with their television on
waiting for the father to arrive from work,
brings a smile...
there's a mother, her daughter and son
discussing family issues over late dinner...
i hear the crying and lamentations of a widowed wife,
of a sick mother who was abandoned by her family,
i fight the urge to go out in the dark
upon hearing the soft whimpering.of a sick dog,
the muffled sobs of a lady neighbor, brokenhearted,
****** my heart without end
i would've sobbed with her...comforted her...
the silent weeping of an orphaned child
is hard to fathom...hard to ignore
........i even hear my own unspoken woes,
their wailings and mine, side by side
all heard...by the spirits of the night...
sounds seem the loudest
during these late, late hours, when
the rest are asleep, and quietude reigns
curiosity is so stirred, for
i don't...i can't see the source
of these nightly sounds
in the dark silence of the night
i hear...
...and
i write...
Sally
Copyright May 25, 2015---4:51 PM
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
Brethren Hear This
〰〰〰〰〰〰〰
Brethren but why doubt God's prowess?
Even the devil knoweth:He is the creator
And the Greater,
High above in Heavens is his palace,
Creator but created suffering not,
He has counted and recorded your wailings,
And has weighed all your fraught,
He standeth at your door:Knocking and Waiting,
Why not answer his call?
Open your door to him:And seek solace,
Cast your burdens on him:not one but all,
For he cares;the bible speaketh his promises,
Like a police;He watches and enforce them,
Go to him brethren:And see his splendid gem,
A Poem Written By
©Historian E.Lexano
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 3:15 AM UTC
When it comes to all my sorrows
what do I do with them
Do I place them in a paper cup
and pour them down the sink
Do I take a mallet to them
and pound them soft as mink
When it comes to all my tears
where do I bring them?
Do I bring them to the sea
to merge with salty smears
Do I offer up my wailings
to the God above?
When it comes to all my sadness
what can take them all away?
Do I grin and bear it with a grin
then walk away on feet of clay
or do I pray for better days,
hoping that ,He'll lead the way.
May 16, 2023
May 16, 2023 at 10:39 PM UTC
Rain
Loving
Fireworks
Accidents of
Death due to a tear
The
Blink and
Blare of a
Screaming horn sounds
Baby left alone
To
Die in
Time is all
A man can ask
And
To say
Poetry
Are merely an
Attempt to share dreams
Shows
How far
The magic
Has gone from you
Case
Of the
Casket man
Left solemn for
He knows no one else
Only a wish for home
Wise
Are the
Wailings of
The beating youth
Gongs made of the high,
Bloodied red rising dawn
And
When I
Try to run
Your life like God
Would its holy sirs
Turn
Tail and
Dash because
The end is a
Turn, not a final
Sign of destination
Each
Drunken
Holler from
Outside my home
Could be a mirror
Of what I used to be
I
Pick up
My sheets with
Nothing but the
Sense that something here
Has gone horribly wrong
And
The moon
Winks its eye
Wide with a sigh
That can be heard far
Past the migrating herd
To
Say Bon
Voyage to
An old friend who
Has been the light for
All of these long, dark years
Is a pain I want to hold,
Lay with, as if a Christmas gift
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
Knocking on a door that never opens
knocking on a door that never opens,
I need to enter so that I can empty out the heaviness of my emptiness into a room that has no colour. And the ignorant will walk by and they will hear the wailings that have created another dent in the moon and they will dance to the beat.
But
They will keep walking.
The wailings, they'll stop.
One day someone will knock and
knock and
knock
The door will open and I will greet them with my feet that dangle 6 feet above them.
And I hope
I hope that's loud enough.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
Has life no sweeter sounds than breathes your chords?
Sensations have me wild to ancient voice;
To powered wailings, of Armada's swords.
Tho' known my ears, would you'd been sailor's choice
And if so moved as I, then they'd have won.
The muse of classic notes, had they'd been sung
To tunes of angel mine when morn' meets sun
Would not had tragic end, but love that strung
With solo harps and scores of violins.
Ah! None could meet the air as your recite;
Aloud this ode, as from such tongue begins.
tho' blind to beauty owned, O' read despite!
And if so swayed as whom the pen began
then known no other song; I love more than.
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 12:21 PM UTC
Inattentive to blackened slopped lashes,
which run coal tributaries land-sliding
from her eyes to her chin, he walks
in direct aim for an exit. She squawks
her “You never loved me,” wailings
to whom she, never loved herself. As frenzy
slams between them, violent collision
of his realization, sparks his next decision
and he stops. One hand in empty pocket,
on empty wallet, he is spun illogically
and holds second palm against door.
Lacquered eye in peephole’s furor,
is batting on other side. He softly makes
his sweet tortured apology, “Sorry.”
You see how for pitiful poor love,
is for pitiful poor, all there to speak of.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 8:15 PM UTC
to hear your voice again
lifts it from my stomache
where it hides in pain --
to my throat
in sweet Hallelujah
a thanksgiving hymn
a gregorian chant of Love
doubt is the handmaiden of fear
who carries a basket full
of tears and banshee wailings
and makes it hard to keep
my head above the ego
yet
it is my head that is off key
my heart is on
I listen to it harmonize
with the song of your voice
that lifts my soulheart to hear
c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
With your gaze piercing through the darkness
I awake stunned and silent
As we lock eyes it all rushes towards me
All of your pain and misery washing over me as a cacophony into the realization that I am the cause
The tyrannical wailings, night after night
Your daily insomniac presentation
My heart has not been your shield
It became the tool with which to pierce your remaining humanity
Collapsing to my feet I scream,
"How could I not have known?"
The days you unneededly suffered
Barbarically tortured by my fervourous, so called act of healing
No words I speak, nor attempt at apology
Be enough to make okay
That which has been said
That which has been done.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 2:41 AM UTC
Pallbearers dancing to the bank
As deaths keep on soaring high
Who knows the crimes of the dead?
Except the unseen hands of creation.
Sickness ravages the souls of men
Children pleading for more years
Who cares about their yearnings?
Only the dying mothers.
Famine saddens the hearts of All
Pests smile towards the crops
Who can salvage the situation?
The Guardian of the yields beckons.
Babies cry for food, shelter and water
Markets are closed to All
Floods impede movement
As the wailings continue.
©June 2020
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 10:20 AM UTC