Hear the whispers inside
Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow
A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry blue eyes enchanting melodies!
Voices falling from the sky
Rising hymns release ancient demons that cling to the soul
The darkness dwells under gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World,
Exposing Indian hands that weave native smoke into the air
Their spirits taunting burrows from the muddy Earth
Moccasin makers rise from underneath
Guardians of dream catchers
Smooth thread from the outer edge, bowing heads.
Luminous gems of ivory,
Chasing a florid kiss.
Through the winds of enchanted drums, voices cry out for rain.
The hollow chimes mesmerize
An ancient rage begins to flare
The spears of the perfumed buffalo skin pierced my senses
Removing the veils that cover my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Washing the scalp that bleeds on my face
They collect tears from memories of the past.
KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!
Raven silk braids, feathers fall from my hair.
Dancing in a horrid hallucination of Peyote,
Waking up from the “American Dream.”
Holding out my arms, I am free, I can fly.
I AM A BIRD!
She dances with volta do mar;
about her hips she swings and sways;
on currents of the seas for days,
she beckons sailors from afar.
Her mermaid song, it spins whirlwinds
about the deepest ocean’s gyre;
keep lit, the lanterns of desire;
of whispered lovers and trade winds.
On deck, attempts to navigate,
astern, the deadly shore and reef;
while men she would lure to their grief,
her spectral hand, did gravitate.
Her phantom tendrils now retreat;
revealed too late, their graves to meet.
I feel a butterfly inside;
Its wings are cramped within my breast.
The weight of flesh, o dull cocoon,
Prohibits my free flight. At best
I only soar inside; my wings--
Gossamer, light, remain untried.
I wait...I wait...until the day
The barred' cage is flung aside
And airy wings lift toward the skies.
I have felt this graceful creature
Flutter faintly deep inside;
Then, at times, so ardently,
I think no way will it abide!
It will be loosed! Its wish to fly
Will push the bars of flesh aside.
Determined is this butterfly
To show its colors multiplied
And wing its way through azure skies.
The time is drawing near, I'm sure;
The throbbing swells within my heart.
The cumbrous cocoon, filled with life,
Is bursting now, falling apart.
The butterfly is breaking free;
No more its wings will tightly furl,
But lightly spread upon the breeze
Their filmy webs, gilded and pearled...
The butterfly flutters by the world...
Red velvet petals, only I, seduce,
With hidden danger under the disguise,
My fingers feeling shyly, I reduce,
Thorns sharpen, ready, waiting the unwise.
Before me, bleeding poison, I assume,
This flower withered, shriveled the entire,
A dark extracted substance, the perfume,
No beauty, only sorrow, I admire.
Withdrawn I wept lamenting the depart,
A rosebud, crimson, youthful, I erased,
A lifeless flower, never I impart,
nor taken with affection, I embraced.
Written by Kelly Deschler October 23rd, 2014
Is this a poem?
I will let poets decide
I read here, words and prose
How is it possible
Such ingenuity, over and over
Expressions of the heart
Bitterness sits in the cold
Lovers shedding words
Lost souls attacking verbs
Poets in mourning
Deep and emotional losses
Opening the gates of heaven
For the bereaved and forlorn
Poets who dance and cry
Add some spiced rum and tears
Poets who ponder why?
Poets who offer comfort
Random words of the charitable order
Poets who cannot compose
Yet they are more poetic
Brutal exposure of the heart
Is poetic in its own right
Painters of poetic verse
Who disperse art like candy
I bow my head
In honor of you all
My last request
When that dark omen of death arrives
There shall be a poetic funeral
I shall write nor speak no more
Of lovers and poets
Drunk with words
You all, hoist some cheer
I wish to be surrounded
As all of you
The footpath to eternity
Crosses our sea of time
Horizon of mortality,
Where in Heaven sublime,
© Sandra M. Haight 2015
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Memento of Waters ~ Visual #1
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Syllables Checked: 8,6,2,8,6,2
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died,
he has not been the same.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it,
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain,
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best,
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows
what happens next.
All results of
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Once again befalls the night,
The birth of dark; the death of light.
The shroud that veils the light of day,
Of silk and lace does lightly lay.
And so the mourners straggle on
Each waiting for a coming dawn;
Yet this is not a common night--
T is the birth of dark...
And the death of light!
She is the muse to her own sorrow;
She is the digger of her grave.
She is the painter of her ocean view
and every fatal wave.
She is the shadow of her Father;
She is the darkness in your sight.
She is the night without the stars
surrounding pale moonlight.
She is the music with no words;
She is sweet love without the reason.
She is your dreamer with submission
cold by warmth with every season.
She is your pet with cold intentions;
She is your baby scared and shaken.
She is the bold and pure- the lost and found,
She is a soul awakened.
The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.
I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.
In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.
How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face
of eternities long time clock...
I ache with wanting, with need and passion
it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
when I faced realities shock.
Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
and make the broken whole?
I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me.
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
that so many leavings have left?
Cherish and love to honor and protect
but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?
I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
with the brush held in your hand
I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.
Many voices from the past,
Always echoing in my head,
How long can it last,
I thought you were dead.
You always tell me what to do,
So I don't make a mistake,
Somehow you always knew,
How many I could make.
Because once I hurt you,
And you'll never let me forget,
But what can I do,
You're not quite dead yet.
Why won't you leave me alone,
Will you never forgive me,
I wish I could atone,
Please, just let me be.
The hollow echo of your voice,
Will linger on forever,
You've given me no choice,
It'll never stop, ever.
The sound of you used to make me smile,
But now it tortures me,
I will always be in denial,
So an end I'll never see.
I do not know?
Paddling through a river you made.
Rowing to your success & fame.
Paddle through the blood,
The blood of your countries sons.
Watching your people try to swim.
As they fill the river to it's brim.
Watch them create the river you row through,
Rowing through all their blood.
Planting your countries flag into a generation.
As you land at your destination.
Plant the metal pole through the shriveled corpses,
The corpses of a dead generation.
Hearing the mothers' cries.
As they stare at all their sons' lives.
Hear the tormented wails of agony,
Agony caused by your greed.
Who can hear, the mornings call?
The dead dove's body, as it des fall.
Who can see through, the dead man's eyes?
As the burning sun, falls from the skies.
What once was new, has now become old,
What once was alive, has now become cold,
What you believed, was worth a lot,
Is burnt to ashes, in the melting pot.
Let's start again, I hear them say,
Let's start again, another day,
Let's make again, what we made before,
Spill more blood, on the kitchen floor,
Lift the cross, up on the hill,
Load the guns, to fight and kill.
Fight and slaughter, till there's non one left,
Till your mind is empty, your heart is deaf,
You thought that, I was a soldier too,
You thought that I said, I love you,
But I tell you now, and I tell it true,
The angles of heaven, and the angels of hell,
Are riding now, to the ring of deaths bell.
What you thought, was silver and gold,
Are ashes and dust, on the open road,
What you knew was good, what you knew was true,
The hot sun has dried, like the morning dew,
The very memory, of hope and despair,
Is lost in the hole, of your soul laid bare.
The empty hole, behind the clouds,
The music and the laughing crowds,
Are dead and gone, have faded away,
As a new sun rises, on a bright new day,
I tell you now, and I tell you true,
As the hammer of me hits the anvil of you
Scattered on the ground,
Out of their element.
Deprived of its origin.
Clarity no longer visible.
In the purest snow,
Frozen to the core.
Stripped away so rash.
Trampled into dust.
Stolen without knowledge.
Endless death fighting to prevail.
I do not know?
love is a vicious posion
that has no comparison.
the black death, aids, cancer, ebola
are not even close to its ranpit death toll.
homicide and suicide follows this deadly
mind configuring disease.
Given in the right dosage
It is harmless and offer cures to many
diseases that pre-exist.
Given heavily, an overdosage offers
adverse reactions and deadly side effects
when a person is force to go cold turkey.
It spikes up jealousy, envy, rage, depression,
and madness like no other posion on earth it
spirals out of control.
The poison affects first the heart
when it is first introduced to the body.
when it is suddenly taken away
the posion migrates to the brain.
where dellusions festor and revenge
uncontrollabe rage takes over the mind
and harbors itself deep into the brain.
where it grows to the point of hostile takeover.
the host suffers from great depression that turns
into suicidal and homicidal tendencies.
without the proper anti-venium the
ability to restrain because weak.
the drive to live becomes no more.
Purpose of life
death plagues the mind and
a life or lives are taken.
blood spilled over passion, desires and love.
love is a poison
that noone can outrun.
A fate foretold
Since the beginning of time
Master of time,
And feared by many.
Some say your power is a curse
Some a blessing
Emancipator of souls,
On my poor soul.
Trapped in this prison of torture
Called a body,
Which places limits on my true potential
I understand you,
Hiding behind broken hearts
Are benevolent intentions,
A noble purpose
Bringer of peace,
You give rest
to those tired.
You free those soldiers
Trapped in a game of kings
A dark artist.
I see the beauty in your work.
With your scythe
You paint a masterpiece,
With your scythe
You write a magnificent tragedy.
You are the perfect ending
To our tragic story
The river dragon of crimson streams
Swiftly swimming to bring my end
As I’m standing alone at the silent shore
The beast from this murk suddenly ascends.
Gripping my face in her flawless jaws
The teeth latched efficiently into flesh
Pulling me quickly into the depths
Dragging me into the shallow grave.
Surrounded in filth, drowning in the banks
The apex predator’s grip never relenting
All I can do is break, bleed and decompose
Hoping for some relief in the pending death.
I find some comfort in this prolonged pain,
Because I haven’t felt a thing in ages.
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
I first met Autumn when I was very, very young,
she was just a shy, quiet girl, but so very bright.
These maple trees were our favorite to play among,
as our laughter faded away with the falling sunlight.
I can still see her brown sweater, and reddish-orange hair,
blowing around her smiling face, like a flickering flame.
Her innocent voice still whispers on October's cool air,
near the place, where our lonely swing remains the same.
As the summer days said goodbye, and welcomed September,
the death of my dear, young friend came all too soon.
Autumn was one of those whom you'd always remember,
her soul was as beautiful as the shining, harvest moon.
She was here, then gone, leaving words that were never spoke,
to this day, I have never understood why Autumn had to leave.
Her presence lingers on the wind, like drifting wood-smoke,
as once a year, her playful spirit arises on All Hallow's Eve.
August, 4th, 2014
With the open, naked eye,
Pure death approaches!
Incredibly hollow, kick the bucket long ago
No, whiff nor smell when “THE GHOST” is around.
Abuses the whiteness, in which exists inside these sheets.
It can be the cost and the reason of your overdose in question.
Go ahead and dig your own grave.
I have already commissioned your headstone.
You won’t be remembered,
The aftermath this GHOST creates, will leave you babbling, even in your crate.
This is that whiteness you do not want to feel or taste.
Once he or she was a nobody, is now “The Infamous Ghost!”
The one that lives within your ‘Indian Hollow Walls.’
The Ghost’ leaves heat behind in your room.
It prowls around, leaving you within a near death experience every night.
This' ghost left behind will wreak havoc on your soul,
Shh! Listen to your walls, they speak quite a bit.
Once you find yourself with broken wind, and watery eyes.
Do not think this is your maker in the process.
‘The Ghost’ with eyes so potent compels a numbing stare!
If there really is such a thing as reincarnation,
Then you had better think that this ghost was a ghost in its own past life.
‘The Ghost’ can have you breathing out tears so intense.
Leveling your entire room, with a moat surrounding your bedded kingdom.
Not even your frightened watery dripping eyes will salvage your soul.
Nothing will come in handy before you die.
‘The Ghost’ will incinerate on your obituary.
… It will read…
“There is nothing to Fear but Fear itself! “Said: Franklin D. Roosevelt!”
That, and the fear is all this fearless 'Ghost will leave behind.
It will have you thinking in rational fear.
We seem to have it all
As we want for nothing
In the darkness of the womb
We are evicted into the light
Sadness, then happiness
Unaware of the looming doom
We seem to have it all-
Sadness, then happiness
We hustle, we jump huddles
We cry, we hate, while loving
Then the reaper to the tomb
The eye,a sign the
unwise can't comprehend
Forged from the world's
illumination in darkened
enlightened ones like
Leonardo da Vinci,Isaac
The eye is a tree
with many branches like
Priory of Scion,Knight
in all corners of earth.
The world is clothed
through wisdom from
The eye,all seeing
emblem of power and
riches to the lion hearted
and loyal souls.
A seat of influence and
Creating the social order
through men of power....
Some see it as a
curse,others a blessing.
I feel it,the great eye is
They are bound to the Earth like trees
Suffocating under the weight of an icy grave
Reaching to be free, but only their limbs are seen
Hoping that one day someone will see:
They can't escape with lacerated wings
The ocean surrounds me, covering everything
Nothing will be clearly seen; confusion overwhelming
No-one can save you, you're on your own, left to die
Manipulating every bleeding heart you can find
I can't escape with lacerated wings.
Swarms of nets, waves of screams
Entangle: your captive illusions and dreams
The mask has be seared - The truth now they see
The Liar - Vampiric Fiend; lowly thief
And now they know you can't escape with Lacerated Wings
There's reasons for your rejections:
Your Heavy heart's transferred oppression
The scars are too deep to pass the trials
But you can find peace in your cage of empty spirals
You Cannot Escape With Lacerated Wings
Life's a show,
So when it ends,
We all have to let go.
Bryant’s Necropolis Conceit
Silent halls of death so cometh
William Cullen Bryant
Thanatopsis supremeus now
A sepulchre awaits us all.
Dour darkness and shroud forever
The spirit world so beckons us
We all shall so wither and fall.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
(January 15, 2015) (Double Dactyl)
I want to say good night
But its night as yet to you
I can see darkness now
If maybe you never left
I have to say good night
Darkness has defeated me
Only your love can resurrect me
I am afraid to go now
But I have to go and live under the shads
Love me to my silent place
Good night when you see the moon
Flower me with roses from abandon garden
Cover me with what i was and be now
Good night sleep with elevated power
And the storm calls to me in ways you'll never understand
A gentle call that urges my soul forth
The lighting guiding a path for my feet to walk
Between the stones and ash of all that once was
I stand in the echoing silence of the rain
It drops down upon my skin like the blessing waters of heaven
Soothing me, lifting the weight from my body
I feel at once as if I am home
Standing amid two dimensions
Caught between two skies - here and there
The night wraping around me in warmth
The gentle wind lifting me off my feet
Drops from the clouded moon washing away my body
and I am left just a soul, an essence
The storm calls me forth from beneath my roof
Beckoning me into its depth
I stand among the reeds in the basin
They dance and sway as if welcoming me
And I sway with them back
Caught up in the power that charges the air
That threatens to sweep me away
If the ground will just loosen its hold
The thunder rumbles a low welcoming growl
And I get pleasently lost within it
I am so small compared to its vastness
I close my eyes and succumb to the skies wishes
Rising higher until my feet no longer touch the ground
My fingertips touch the liquid color of the stars
A sigh drifts from my lips
There is no need of thought to stay afloat
There is no demand to breathe in air
No crushing weight upon my chest
As my lungs struggle to survive
There are no struggles here
I make my bed on blackened clouds
And give in to the call
The storm has claimed me as its own
It was such a struggle to stay upon the ground
When the storm would call me home
You were a shining Star.
Few of many in the sky.
Looking up so very high,
Not knowing why you are.
Close and set you are far.
Spinning flames knot a tie,
I note a pattern just like pi.
Colliding with me you spar.
So burn it up and burn away,
Sow your heart upon a plane.
Chart your distance in the clay.
Burn it all up then call it sane.
The explosion in the sky is His death.
All burned up He has no last breath.
(R) Registered: 2013 Ann Rich