Not with my arms but with a heart
that blesses your reveries, may peace reside
within your chest... is it possible to love you
less? Perhaps allow the sun to brush your hair
in the luminescence of dawn?
Even autumn envies you as white light
moves with your scent and possesses
your laughter never to be mine again in times
of harvest or falling rain…
and from stars above, may your eyes
remember our blades of grass
while I half-close the damp field of memorials
creaking on the burial of a resting place
that finds me kneeling, wailing, asking how time
can drown our adventures much too soon...
as I stumble upon this cruel, bruised night.
PD's Million Dollar Poem#1
~This was never entered in any contest
and yet it got a Poem of the Week Award
with about 31 comments.
by nette onclaud
The smell of cinnamon apple pie
lingers in my mind
my mouth still waters from
her delicious homemade fudge
I can hear faint giggles
from the time we slid down the laundry chute
those goodbye hugs I could never get enough of
my heart cant help but cry
so many happy memories
entrenched inside my mind
your spirit will live in me forever
until the end of my time
**Dedicated to Grandma Gwendolyn Smith who passed on Friday at the age of 103**
like visitors from outer space
they came with tears, and lined the sidewalk
long in face, and arms embracing
some (I have no inkling) who
they were or why they felt compelled to come here
dozens came with casseroles
a few with flowers, wads of tissues
tender words of helpless mutterings
many acts of generous offerings
don't get me wrong, I watched the suffering
expressed in words or acts of kindness
I watched it all, and felt the love
did not dismiss the warm compassion
returned it all, with pure compliance
a thankful heart, a swollen throat
I hugged these strangers at the door
to comfort them, who shed their tears
upon my shoulder, offered them
a place to share their sympathies
a place to spend their mercy, pure
but, this was my child who suffered loss
impossible........I can't express it
protected from the very start, by
loving hands, her dad's and mine,
we watched her grow, and let her go
she grew from the vine ....into a rose
but life composed a tragedy with goals
beyond our reach...beyond our wildest dreams
and left her with a loss beyond control
like visitors from outer space we watch
as others come, and others go
they blow into their tissue wads
and empty the boxes one by one
and cry with us, and then they all go home
do we cry........? Oh no, not yet...
instead we smile a grateful smile
and thank them kindly for the while
and for the ways they share their love
but we can't cry into our own clenched wad
of tissue from the tissue box
she needs us to be strong, somehow
and so that is the way it is, we vow...to hold back all the tears for now
for, this was my child who suffered loss
impossible........I can't express it
With every breath I take my body aches,
When I lie in bed I feel my insides hurting.
With every reminder brings me pain.
No more can I find comfort in my home,
The cries of babies stains my mind.
I'm trying my best,
But of course from day to day hour to hour,
I find myself crying.
Memories that morning come to me every day,
Nurses surrounding me my doctor getting on her knees,
Her head looking down,
The thoughts that ran through my mind.
My life entering a new course,
One full of grieving.
He had my face,
My son, my beautiful angel.
He's watching me now,
He left me in tears but he is in my heart.
Laughter drifts through the house, ....it has been such a while
Debate filters in, from the kids in the kitchen
The rafters are rattled with two strong opinions
Girls against boys, with opposing positions
I've watched them shuffle their cards and argue who won,
They seem to be lost, in the light masquerade,
of bittersweet happiness that is dim from the gray
Dipping their chips into onion laced cream
smacking their lips, and drinking their cokes
They are betting a few of the red plastic discs,
that will ante' this round
...I listen, and smile, it's a beautiful sound, ...
So long overdue,.......
we are embracing the mood... and it is time that we do....
Now a new game ensues.....
Monopoly, perhaps? Or charades, they will play
Whatever it is, ........ let it fill up the day
Let it take them away,....away from the gray
I let up the shade
to watch the evening come in, bringing umber and rust,
as earth swallows dusk, which is fading away
From the living room window, I am hoping to see
geese flying back to their warm winter homes
All nature seems normal, routine, once again
Winter is coming and a new year begins
How will it be now, this journey, untried,?
As we move on, wearing smiles, wearing grief on our sleeves
Smiles, for awhile, hiding anguish, and pride
Cold days are arriving......and there is talk on the hill
where tall pine trees are whispering,
reminding the creek, and the ash trees are shedding
and katydids will not call out condolences in the dark
Soon enough, when the lark sings, wet grass will need tending
stacks of shutters will need painting,
and snow will yet need to be pushed aside
How will they cope..?
He's not here to do it...but somehow we hope
they will wade their way through it..
But for now , at a kitchen table
for these brief moments, they are able
to laugh, argue, and have fun...
Someone shouts out, "I won!"..
Joy is hard work...but it needs to be done
When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender
and exchange inestimable treasures
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
Grief is not something we “get through”…
you “get through” a bad day
Grief is not something we “get over”,
“you ”get over” a cold”
Grief is not something we “move on from”
you “move on from” a bad relationship”
But Grief is… a companion we “move forward with”,
learning from and growing, with each agonizing step.
Grief is… a heart-wrenching process, not bound by time,
But sets us on a “lifelong journey” of finding truth and meaning…
Grief is not a crutch we hold onto for pity
It is not a lack in character
It is not a weakness that needs to be strengthened
Or a problem that needs fixing
It is not an enemy to be slain
Or like a wild animal, to be caged
Grief is… “A METAMORPHOSIS OF HUMAN LIFE”
YES! that needs “time”… “A LIFETIME”
Grief is… an acknowledgement of true love shared
and true love lost
Grief is… a love we hold so deep within our souls
That our tears fall to caress the pain…
“God given tears”, full of purpose and meaning
For each one carries with it a piece of our heart
grief hugs us and holds us close
to a great love we can no longer touch…
grief is… our friend for without it
our lives would have been a lie.
Grief is…purely and simply a journey of love
It is a friend, to those of us who mourn
A friend who sees what we need and allows us to be us
Grief is a release of unimaginable pain…
a release of a great indescribable loss…
Grief is… the bridge that crosses repentant oceans,
spans desolate canyons, and fear filled mountain tops.
that we may cross over this tragedy to a renewed heart
by means of the love we shared and continue to share
through the love of our Almighty God
A pain we can use, to broaden our hearts
and the hearts of all those around us
it is… a road we must travel to gain wisdom.
A level of wisdom you will never achieve by playing strong.
For only when we sink to the bottomless pit of grief
Will we be awakened by the light of truth.
Do not judge it… for it contains Gods secrets
Secrets you can only hear by listening
through the blare of the pain.
It is a sacred contract to be in awe of and inspired by
To learn from and grow from
To gain compassion and understanding from
It is a journey that holds a sacred contract
That will be signed by each and every one of us
Who has the strength… and the courage…
to love with all your heart and all your soul.
It is not a journey I would wish on anyone
But now that I am here I will walk it with honor
And purpose, with my head held high and my feet in stride
For at the end of this road there you’ll be,
waiting to take me home.
Trying to get myself together,
I book my dentist appointment.
In the waiting room I sit.
Finally, they call me,
I sit on the all familiar dentist chair.
Looking up, the light shines on my eyes,
Giving my headache advancement,
I close my eyes.
Suddenly they speak of cavities.
“Would you like to get fillings today?” they ask.
Sure, I thought aloud.
They numb my mouth,
Nothing I felt, they asked me one more question.
“Would you like the gas to feel more comfortable?”
“Yes please”, I replied.
Next thing you know I am gazing off,
It leads to my mind wondering, I feel strange.
Images of all my emotions pop up,
They start to seem more real.
I am off into a deep sleep,
Me sitting in a chair carrying my son,
He opened his longing eyes,
My heart felt the joy of this dream.
I was rocking him so peacefully,
My little angel came to me in a deep sleep.
I wake from the drilling of my teeth feeling at peace,
The dentist told me of how peaceful I seemed,
Moreover, of how tired I must have been that I fallen asleep.
No idea they had of how restless I was,
Nor that I am a grieving mother who had just lost a piece of her heart.
I did not expect to had left the dentist feeling happy,
I had a vision a created memory that put me at peace.
Crazy you might think but I look forward to my next dentist appointment.
~My son Bael forever in my heart and if I’m lucky in my dreams he will visit me~
My thoughts let go of a thousand memories,
Like faces, dates, times and places;
Yet, I can easily recall each and every detail,
On the day of your funeral.
O the grieving . . .
In the middle of a snow storm I followed,
And the wind blew back my long hair;
As we meandered down a winding cold path,
The wild storm paused in the trees.
O the weeping . . .
Snowflakes fell on me from the tangled branches,
Falling like crying tears cascading down;
I am lost and moaning in this forever, ever memory,
And now the snow drifts in the cemetery.
O the sadness . . .
A headstone is buried deep in the pure white,
And but one engraved word is revealed;
In this pristine cold, dead winter wonderland,
Only one word can be seen, mother.
O the lamenting . . .
Hidden beneath the snow . . .
I will treasure your arms last embrace mother
Till this heart stops beating . . . .
September 24, 2014
Written by Broken Wings
Entered into the contest, A poem not entered in a contest, sponsor, Poet Destroyer
Anger flies with swift wings
As tedious pleas for more time reverberate through his mind
He is the servant of Time- yet takes the blame
When her clawed hand unwinds the clock
He, the sovereign of the dark, the one and only truth!
Is at the front of the onslaught of screams
He moves soundlessly, a shadow in the world
Tormented whispers scattering around him
Fear spreading wildfires' shrill promise
Mercy, a withering carcass in a crude burial
He became Hope's last regret
When he became the prince of darkness,
Forgoing all he once was, and all he could have been
When he sailed away from home, his love for Time burned
He had loved her, caressing her supple frame
Faithfully staying by her side,
And Time managed to wrap her cruel talons
Around his frozen heart
Dwindling him down to nothing more, than abject self-loathing
And she trapped him within her bondage, for eternity
Now he wanders, over and over again in his servitude
A trapped guardian of the dark
The fog horn groaned its complaint of “too.late”
Under darkened sea that once birthed horizon
And Hark! a maelstrom of black ink
Behold its terrific evil and terror!
A swirling whirlpool announcing you-have-been-fooled
And the cries of fright forever ruled
Scream in delight—“He suffers our fate…in pain we celebrate!”
He no longer looked along the swirls in terror
But was now part of its ferocious cycle
Tears mixing with the agonizing laughter
Amidst salty moans and tepid sweat
Soon… exhausted by the chaos… he sank into a most foggy pit
Ashamed, naked, barren of all past wit
A cowardly frame, shivering in unknown terrain
Inside a place where Time is gone….
But always looming in the brain….
As the errant fogs lift,
The grizzled trees’ feet curl in sensuous fervor of the cold
He envies e’en the trees, with heartless relish of their misty exhalations
Under shuttery breath he no longer truly breathes, … he sighs…
Might I never reach the heights of even the mel-lowed fog?
Shall I burn upon the dead leaves, rising only to fall?
From that day forward,
He wandered blindly
Both loving and loathing pulsing tempos of silence
“I’m still in love…” He whispers softly. “Oh how I am in love…”
The dark that once befriended him almost smiles now…
…then why do I feel so alone?
The wind blows in almost an unnerving jeer
A cool wisp enunciating Time’s uncouth rejection
For she loved no one, yet all
Loving with a cruel wish to watch the other fall
How many has she taken, he would never know
For in shadow comes confusion and woe
—and the voices he hears do not sound of his kind
But who am I? What am I?
A slave in Time’s forever grind…
A very special collaboration with Rebecca Larkin
The hideous and the humble
Blood peppers falling snow
As world hurtles to the tipping point
Life chokes on ignited air
Wrenching love from hungry mouths
Stars fall without sound
Some weep helpless, day through night
Ever wondering how
Never knowing why ...
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
Laying her back on the wall of her prison
Why was it different
It hurt more
Grief affecting her
This terrible ache consuming every pore
Harder to swallow
It was him she's sure
She loons at me
I know the look
She's hiding behind the sofa
Saying he's been back banging on the door
I know it was the tumble dryer upstairs
Her eyes are bloodshot
A beautiful bright blue bloodshot
Wide as fish eyes
She's been pacing all night holding a knife
She's holding an umbrella
I took the knives last time she cut her wrists
She's in torn clothes as she tears at her flesh
I feel my flesh tear
That's her last nice dress
No longer nice but torn and red
I give her trousers and a belt
My own only just brought
They drown her
At least she's covered
She says he's been calling her all night on the phone
I took the phone when she smashed it on the wall
I try to think of everything
In the bathroom there's hair in the chipped shabby sink
She's been pulling it out by the roots
I feel my scalp it's sore, alien
I feel everything
I removed the scissors when she shredded her scalp cutting her hair off
Saying this is why he had her
Her long golden hair
In the cabinet, too many
Too many pills
She should of taken these
Promising to take her pills, begging don't send me back to hell
But at the secure unit she's safe
Says she'll have a bath and
be better tomorrow
She's settled, I'm settled
So I leave
I'll come back in the morning
I sleep soundly
First night in months
The morning light gives me slight hope
I can't remember this feeling much
I hear a crash
I'm taking too long
Kicking the door in
I thank God for kickboxing
She's swinging from the oak beam in the ceiling
My belt around her neck
I look for a knife
I look for scissors
To cut her down
Cut me down
I look for a phone to call an ambulance
I feel my body juddering
My heart stop beating
The new belt
I hadn't thought about the belt
Look in the mirror
Look in the mirror
What do you see?
Masked men staring back at me
What do you do when you look in the mirror?
Only to despise what you see
The pain you caused the everlasting memories
Do you see what you've done?
Can you live with what you caused?
Go now down your distant path
Your unworthy happiness will never last
These are things the Masked Men Cause
Who’s to say your right or wrong?
Misguided emotions lead you down this path
Masked Men mistakes will surly last
Go now the time has come
No more chances the Masked Men are done
Turn away and feel the pain
The lonely walk to enter slumber
The Masked Men Smile with pleasures unknown
Another one down
A broken spirit lost
Close your eyes and take his hand
Let the Masked Men take you away
By: Tim Lundmark
“It’s a terrible love
And I’m walking with spiders…
It’s a terrible love and I’m walking in
Its quiet company…”-Birdy
Three long claws enclosed around a lone beating heart
Stone talons gripping in happy malice, silently angry by its pulse it cannot feel…
The longer I stare into the hollow sockets seeing only ugliness,
The easier it becomes to break into pieces over the mere thought of you
I thought it was a dull beat- a throbbing, fading beat disappearing into the night…
Though your image, once so grainy, is becoming clearer and clearer in the fogs of my consciousness
I thought it was just a dull, callous beat…
But the more it throbs against the stone, the more the stone cracks
The more the demon cries in anguish…the more I fall
So deeply in love have I become,
I can barely breathe in this misty embrace
The suspense of your blows make my innards whimper…make my mind shiver
My tearful eyes cry for your assurance
My body changes through the peeks of your light
It is all a joke!
This is all pathetic, low, meaningless!
Surely these claws over this heart do not exist
Holding onto nothing but dead spiders who once weaved miracles
Dust and spider legs….spider eyes…they had seen so much…felt so much with their prickly appendages
Through a lovely peephole beyond the three stoned fingers…
I see the entire world where they must have crawled
A world holding you…
If only I could hold you too…
Something tells me I would never let go if I had the chance
Something tells me I would crush you
I would turn you into dust and spider legs…
And yes, as all demons enjoy, I would lose you
In the grip of the three stoned fingers
You were that heart I thought I had seen…
The heart that continued to beat long after it was ripped out
The clenched heart that throbbed despite its crushing cage
The very heart that bled and bled for no body and all for the sake of love
Beating and beating, cracking those frigid fingers
And all of the fallen limbless creatures would gather round…
And they would tell me… “He lives yet still…”
Weaving in their webs the very bloods and salts you pumped
Within me…and beyond me
Dead spiders weave and weave and weave…
And unlike human hearts, their ideas never tire
Taking baby steps these days,
they hurt less than leaps and bounds.
An unusually negative way of saying:
small steps feel more contenting right now,
than larger plans for different memories.
What are these larger plans for different memories
you back away from right now?
How might you hang onto this dream
or avoid this nightmare
while continuing with your contented smallish steps?
Could you write and storytell yourself through both messages,
perhaps nesting one within the other,
usually the smaller steps within the larger praxis and storyline
like a personal journal entry,
nested within each Earth Day headline.
Of which hopes and dreams is your life iconic,
as it is,
and becomes obvious by simply unweaving your story backward,
back through Earth's spacetime enculturing history?
How you are different and the same as your grandmother
writes the most recent episode in your epic
of how you are different and the same as Grandmother Moon,
languages the most recent episode
in the universal epic
of how you are different and the same as your Elder cousins,
Sun and Earth,
Yang on Yin, yet again,
Fire's dynamic effect on Water's self-absorptive evaporation.
Let's Spring those Baby Steps, girl!
Stop with this winterish wilting in silo of shadow,
OK, so, who and/or what's next?
I need to find a less expressive way of living.
Oh, wait, that's called not living.
Hmmm, what to do....
It’s not what she hears that day
No. It’s what she sees,
The image very nearly killed her
The neighbours say the scream was heard two blocks away
Though she can’t recall hearing what was said
No. It’s what she sees alright
Even to this day, she can feel the envelope
She can see the “WESTERN UNION” through the milky window
She can see the “THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS…”
What she doesn’t hear, is what the Telegram Boy had to say
She still has the Telegram
Its yellow parchment a little brittle, the typed words
“HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR SON…” a little smudged, tears she guesses
Though she doesn’t remember any tears, they came later
Along with the pain of not knowing, and the sorrow of knowing
Then almost a year to that day, it’s not what she hears
But what every mother would want to see
What every mother would want to feel
And every mother would dearly love to hear
“Hello mum, I’m home…”
8 May 2015
Craig Cornish’s Poetry Contest “A Mother’s Ears”
Battered by dirty rain
New flowers wounded
From broken roots
Of shameful pain.
When quietness roars alone
To shout hate and blame
And the known hurt
Pours down on them.
Stems from angry homes
Like molten plastic
Of showroom dummies
They cross their bones.
When there's no one to tell
As the chill of harm
From the familiar
Makes life hell!.
I always reach for you
When the night seems too long
It feels like you should be there
Lying where you always were
I want to hold your hand
Feel your fingers tighten
Around my own tentacles
Two hands cleaving as one
Since you’ve been gone
The walls listen to my sobs
And seem to whisper of grief
That edges my very soul
Missing you is like a nightmare
Where I never truly wake
It leaves me feeling sluggish
Even during the sunniest days
I often wonder if I will ever find comfort
Amid the pain of my memories
Will I ever look through the old photographs
And caress the heart of what could have been?
Missing you is a tragedy
That keeps me grasping
For the pieces of the past
Which frequent my thoughts
Without you, I think
Am I really me?
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
R.I.P. William Dale Eubanks
d. July 1, 2012, aged 68 yrs., Tennessee Ridge, Tennessee
Death came as no surprise
the first Sunday in July;
it claimed you, on a ridge in Tennessee,
with kin who took you in and waited with you
through the last hard days.
You kept what fears you had well hid,
did not betray with loud complaint
the fate you could not but know awaited.
A smile, a joke, a hug – exotic meals –
And genuine interest greeted all you met.
And you were, certainly, never boring
but well-traveled and smart
beyond the telling.
We’ll miss your wit, your bright demeanor,
and will remember all you freely gave ---
and what you took from us
with your passing.
I never told my mother the truth
about the autumn night my sister died
The sad secret that churns in my soul
struggling to escape holding my breath hostage
Wakened by a sound puncturing the silence of our sleeping room
Our bedside clock with numbers that flipped every minute
bore a dim glow illuminating the time 12:16
Gentle moonlight drifting through the window
fell on my sister sitting on the side of her matching bed
Her auburn curls tangled and frizzy sea blue eyes glazed with sleep
She coughed into cupped hands
A hard cough racking lungs clenching her chest
I threw back covers dropped bare feet onto a cool wooden floor
headed for our mother’s room
She waved a hand as coughing eased shook her head
Said she was all right didn’t need Mom
Slid back into bed on her side facing me
Snuggled her head into the pillow with one arm curled under
The other arm lying on top of the covers hand curled under her chin
Closed her eyes
Clock numbers flipped to 6:00 am time to get up for school
She still lay in the same position skin now drained of color
Once rosy cheeks paled as if buried in a sudden snowfall
Her hand cold where I grabbed it to shake her awake
Stiff joints locked in place
My screams locked in place
banging against clenched teeth drawn lips
At thirteen I couldn’t imagine what to do with guilt
that descended on me like a sodden wool blanket
It was too heavy to fold and lay aside
Knew I couldn’t survive if Mom knew my secret
That I slept peacefully while my sister her first born child
slipped away beyond our reach
Images flooded my mind of Mom’s soft loving eyes
hardening with hate her comforting touch withdrawn
Some actions cannot beg forgiveness
Mom has gone now to be with my sister
But I am not worried
My big sister always kept our secrets
Why must the mourning come
with every dawn?
The sky is crying again today.
I heard her sobbing
as I laid in bed.
She would calm down
for a little while,
then it would start up again.
Did I do something
to upset Mother Nature?
I watched in solemn silence
as her tears
streak down my window pane.
I wonder what I can possibly do
to comfort her.
There are no tissues large enough
to wipe away
a streaming flood of sorrow.
Maybe this is just Mother Nature's way
and soon it will pass.
The newborn flowers
open their blossoms
to receive and embrace
Mother Nature is so beautiful
even when she cries.
May 13th, 2014
Why is it that pressure feels so heavy?
When pressure isn't solid.
Why is it that tears of anger hurt more?
When anger isn't sorrow.
Why is it that life is a challenge?
Life should be a gift.
Why is it that car was there?
In that right place. At the wrong time.
Why must I live my days in memory?
Ten years still don't block that moment.
Why can't I be stronger?
Make you proud of me. I know you're watching.
Why is it that you didn't look the same?
In that bed. In the hospital.
Why did I hug that woman?
The one who hit you. She brought a plant.
Why did I say 'She'll be okay.'?
I hoped. Knew it wasn't somehow.
Why did it have to happen right after our phone call?
Two more seconds you'd still be here.
Why are we left with all these questions?
Spoken out into empty air.
Why am I still here?
There must be something I'm meant to do.
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.
I kneel my knees to please the Above
Dying to eat every word from the hope
Went to the prominent land with great gurus
Sitting on the hot seat, listening to them
Time came for judgement holding the swords of my fear
First battle got victory but it wasn't remain long
Tears suddenly rolled down not because of failures
But for the companions stood better to receive the crown
In the dark sited with a small light of candle
Regrets with gigantic question, "what did I do wrong?"
The unending question covered the beating heart
Marked the loneliness to face the bright shine
Under the humiliation around the eyes
Expected that it would I overcome!
Turning my head towards the abstruse gem
Gives brilliant views and bogus fate!
The game is his friend.
Always there for him.
Never turning him away.
Inviting him to visit
And giving him the
Best seat in the house.
In front of the screen.
It is his sport.
Replacing baseball, football,
Basketball and all others.
It lets him score
And makes him feel
Like a winner.
Like a champion!
The game is his sustenance,
Feeding his thoughts,
Shaping his soul,
Controlling his mind,
Closing the door to family.
To the world.
Anger grows behind
Raised brows and widened eyes.
Honing his skills and
Numbing his feelings.
Making him blind to life.
Making death easy.
Cries for help went awry ,
anguish and pain went in vain
lost battle of life before a coward.
Groping and forcing on a girl does not
make a man strong just proves that he is a beast,
and unfit to be among people.
Taking away a girl's modesty
is not a most heroic act
but a heinous crime which
even ferocious beast would not have.
Curse the moment when these
sick are born with lust all the time.
Even girls are afraid to
be mothers,raise kids like these.
The power of a man lies in character
and heart but not in sexual supremacy or desires.
(Dedicated to Nirbhaya,who was brutally raped and died fighting for her life.And all those who have been victims.Let's raise our standards and respect women everywhere ,without her there is no world.)
“Once very near the end I said, 'If you can -- if it is allowed –
come to me when I too am on my death bed.”
“Allowed!' she said. “Heaven would have a job to hold me;
and as for Hell, I'd break it into bits.”
Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to force
this creature out of its shell if it is now doomed to crawl back
-- to be sucked back -- into it?
~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
The division should be acute,
the before her, the with her,
the after her.
There is this constant
rattling of doors, though they remain
locked, in theory. I think of her
as gone until I turn a page,
read a passage of pompous
dialogue and she returns,
My Joie de Vivre,
entertaining me with that puckish
She smiles in the dusk with crusading
colours that bend dark horizons,
changing clouds, unexpectedly.
What was I before Joy?
Content, pleasant, productive.
But was I alive, aware of life,
its blissful rhythms?
the heart which awakened stone
no longer beats.
Finally, I understand.
Lessons are sharp things
which infect both fresh
and aging amputations.
What do I do with this knowledge?
It is like learning a language
that is no longer spoken,
a long monologue
unbearably forlorn, painful.
Faith dismisses hauntings,
yet she does so in daily degrees.
O, the sweet ghosts that peer
from those notes,
my name underscored in margins.
Why is there only one glove
in the sewing box?
Agony hunts me
in the garden. Perfume almost,
but not quite a match.
Some rooms have snares.
I dare not open a kitchen drawer.
Pain waits there.
The specter of my former self,
a staunch gent, so sure
of Heaven's role,
that cold bloke follows me
into the shadows,
land of man’s rage
and despair. There is no pretty
death, no words can comfort
the ravaged left behind,
There is no poetry
in our departing.
I only pray
there is Godspeed in mine.