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!
The wraiths were ringing dead wrought bells
while closely passed the shady shapes
of woods in dusk, where red indwells
communion made from ghostly grapes.
He ran amidst the winds and passed
across the side where grapevines grew,
it was her presence that amassed
small leaves and droplets of fog's dew.
Inside the winds' lone strings accord,
his Bell full-face, was dropped along
the streamlets and horizon's board,
untamed his scopes, they don't belong.
The Astral Chords! He knew this debt;
the skies demand and kill and draw,
the darkened paths his thought beget,
rose thorny droplets on his brow.
Persephone shall be his wed,
subsiding dew the mist regales,
the stringing roar that reaches red,
his greatest bride resigns his trails.
Shall be the threading of winds' howls,
her plea arises from the shades,
homecoming queen from astral halls,
he harks the northern swashing blades.
Ablution's her enjoining black
"Enfold me in the rising dawn
enfold your sadness in the dark
with magistral the curtains drawn".
Acute of wounds she heals and mends
the asphalt of the mists awaits
pristine her bridal thorns amends
while passing through the Hades gates.
Three hundred reasons drew the drapes,
three hundred strings of diligence;
The winds regaled the bride's agape,
his celebration to commence.
© 10-14-2013, George Venetopoulos
(Iambic Tetrameter - Epic)
Three Hundred = 300 Kilometers per hour. The final speed a super-bike of 1,000cc engine is able to outreach.
Just because we're not together
Doesn't mean we're far apart
You may no longer see me
Cause I'm hidden in your heart
I am the warmth in your sunrise
The breeze dancing in your hair
Don't think for even a moment
That I'm gone, no longer there
I'm singing through that sparrow
My fragrance is in the rose
My shade is under the big oak
I'm in the poem you just composed
I still see you in the moonlight
Tell all your secrets to me
I'm closer than you can imagine
Never alone, girl we're still we
*A father on his deathbed pens this poem to his daughter to encourage her when he's gone, to remind her that he will never really leave her!
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
I think about you, every single day,
Since from me, you were taken away,
Your absence has left my world cold,
Now I am alone, with no hand to hold.
I wish that I could bring you home,
So that your soul, shall need not roam,
I hope that you were given white wings,
To fly amongst, where the angel sings.
Within my heart, your eternal breath,
Shall now linger on, even after death,
My love for you shall never cease,
So, may you always rest in peace.
Written by: Kelly Deschler
Gautami Phookan's contest - The Poet III
For Gail Angel Doyle's contest - "Eternal Breath"
Across the interstate
The lights of dusk his thoughts and stare confront
alone the winds, inside his soul engage
while his departure's shedding reds assuage
extending contributions to beyond.
How wrongly pride and virtues just subdue
while cymbals drum paeans on cloudy skies
the fencing emptiness his past denies
- he wished the warfare kills to be untrue.
Concealed the day, a darkened fate embeds
with his division's ranking and three stars
his shoulders' silver and tangential paths
- forever faithful slug, attacking weds.
The shot approximates and blossomed bleeds,
to love him in his chosen Astral Halls,
his homeland and the springtime blooms recalls,
that congregate to stem his manly deeds;
Among the darkened woods the spirits breathe
could be a rustle of his killed comrades,
expatriated lives, outside of Hades,
their end was meritorious, forthwith.
His soul transformed to sentry guard and link
upon the mountain, laurel to bestow,
the killed in action brave became a crow
and sunk the stars behind the shadows blink.
The message passed across the interstate,
infinity became a friend and bride,
his three reflecting silvers coincide
as dew drops drop on his interment slate.
© G. Venetopoulos, 06-20-2014, All Rights Reserved
Sponsor: gautami phookan
Contest Name: The Poet III
Susan Boulet was an artist 1941-1997
Her paintings are famous for their layered effects which she started later on in her artistic career. She loved fantasy which is easily seen in her paintings. This is my fantasy poem as I look at this beautiful picture painted by Susan Boulet.
The old man sits quietly on the hillside, knowing his days as one
Spirit would soon be coming to an end. He stares blankly at the heavens where the pale blue sky is the backsplash for Cumulus clouds now filling in, the horizon. He chants his prayer over and over again calling his brothers to come receive his spirit and be one with him for all eternity. Brother bear, cloak me with the warmth of your coat that we may walk through each winter and never be cold again. We will stand together as one, never again will we know fear. Brother wolf fill my heart with your loyal spirit that we may rise to heights of a love greater than any human could possibly achieve. His prayer seems to rise more intensely as he continues. Mighty cat, share with me your speed that we may be faster than the wind, jumping through the clouds as one. Wise and good owl, become one with us that we shall have wings to fly as eagles and wisdom to find eternal peace. Now the old man whispers, together we shall hold the secrets of the universe in our hands. Soon his chin drops down on his chest as a smile crosses his face, and the old frail body crumbles to the hard rocky ground. Then the cry of a wolf, the hoot of an owl and simultaneously the roars of a sabre-toothed and bear echo through the valley. As darkness fills the sky and the moon is high, the silhouette of a young warrior stands proudly on the bluff.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
For Debbie Guzzi’s Contest:
Free Verse, Prose Poetry, Haibun
Frail firelight flickers
on moon-pale skin, rosary -
fingers strung with stars,
small sparks of eternity.
The end comes with pure beauty.
birth date 9/14, path and destiny number 5
entry for Andrea's 'Tell Me Your Number' contest, written 9/23/2014
The fog's requests accosted us above the ocean vastness
and scattered stars defined afar the tempest's resurrection;
our cargo's diesel engines thrummed as she immersed in darkness
maneuvering the fields invited us to wrong direction.
Half-visible the skylines danced with mist that spread abundant
the Sorceress spelled out upon our travel to Atlantic
expanding borderlines beyond, where waves were moving rampant
- the sylphlike wafting of the sea, engulfed our first mechanic.
Hence, she declared, among the mists, her oracle and candor;
presumptuous she coquetted on Hades' shadowed orchard,
as chthonic forms misguided us to deluged reefs, asunder,
beguiling sailors to conduct in ghostly seas, unconquered.
Tangential the cloaks of night became our route's incisors;
bewitched by the falling fog and sorcery bespoken
we heard the Siren's singing calls, ambiguous advisers
as waves embraced our steadfast bow that led to death unbroken:
" Redeeming waters deep await,
before our early turns to late.
your blue, aquatic route shall cure
whate'er is sorrowful and pure.
and if you manage to disband,
shall meet me on your meadowland
My voice bespeaks inside your souls,
we'll celebrate on Astral Halls;
Address me in your hearts and dare,
so welcome to my seaward fair. "
© 2015-01-08, 2014-05-03, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
((Iambic) decapentasyllabic verse. Last stanza: Iambic tetrameter)
The Ship (Her Soul, the Sea)
Foreshadowing the dusk, appeared immense,
magnanimous the skylines sent the ship,
its blackened sight embossed the thought and sense
of sailors that imagined its long trip.
The ship's black smoke ascended to the skies
from supercilious tall funnels, smog
bestowed its sacrificial offing size
to sovereign Gods that lived inside the fog.
In front of us, the ship's displacement thrilled
approaching thus magnificent the moors;
Her Soul, the Sea, and eulogy that killed,
relentlessly enticed, through dark allures.
The night descended when the ship's steel gaze
examined curious and measured me,
proposing wedlock and a fate of blaze,
my competence, demanding, in the sea.
Across the Straits, young Lady Sadness kissed
with ripping cold my twenty years and eyes,
resembling Her Soul, the Sea, amidst
the Northern winds that howled and life's demise.
© 10-15-2013, G.Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
Marks the end of life—
Transformation now begins.
The soul exits the Earth’s plane . . .
A new journey’s underway . . .
Heaven’s the destination!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
Schoeningen, Germany (November 12, 2014)
(Tanka poetic format)
Darkness of night,
introduce me to what lurks
underneath your enchanting moonbeams.
I know that I should stay away,
yet, I am drawn to these silent things
that could easily end me.
I am not afraid of the supernatural.
I am spellbound, enraptured, mystified
by these psychotic creature's requiem dance,
that captures my soul
as it's own possession.
Darkness of night,
take me into your underworld,
where the arms of roaming specters
can totally envelope me,
like a densely tangled spider-web,
with no intention to ever let go.
Allow them to take me away,
to a deep place where, peacefully,
my dying soul can finally rest.
Darkness of night,
tell the devil only this....
he can have all of me,
to punish in any befitting manner.
I have already been through torture,
known pain, lived with loneliness,
and seen hell on earth.
The devil may care to try,
but he cannot hurt me any more.
Darkness of night,
say goodbye for me.
Shout high up to the heavens
and tell the sun it needs to shine
no longer on me.
Dark Poetry Contest
Like the sun awakened, from slumber grey
Blessing every tortured fray
embraced my soul, your glorious gaze
and set my lonely heart ablaze
like the sun amass a brand new morn
upon your whispered wind was born
our love, till endless ages sworn
like sun enveloped, rainy days
you devoured all my hopeless haze…
and since dost now my heart amaze
with joy and laughter, lifes’ rephrase
but like the sun,twas time to set,
now life dost seem just wretched fret
sunless days chase moonless night
drifting along alas lonely plight
A Godly gift you were to thee
rewarding every desperate plea
now I must sail amidst raging sea
blind to hithers destiny.
But I shall rise above the moon
Amidst the troubled waters swoon
For love like ours it strengthens mast
To ride relenting waters vast
Till time dost ask for my return
To the place my tethered soul doth yearn
And all my cares shall be set free
your womb my love this soul shall flee
where thine was always meant to be
in Heavens Grace… Eternally
I realize limitation
Is an illusion.
My destiny is without
Beyond death. Beyond the periphery
Cosmic chaos is cooking...
In infinite situations
Attuned yet unaware,
A universe of oppositions
Frequency and energy
A spiraling dichotomy.
an ascending epiphany.
CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK, (pos. or neg.) CRITIQUES, OR ANY SUGGESTIONS
I also enjoy simple lists of words, descriptors of an abstract reaction
describe the feelings or ideas my poem invoked or left in feeling or thought.
Even on word. is better than none. Thank you
plotting, scheming, destroying
enemy, sin, son, shepherd
sacrificing, atoning, purifying
Written on 3/26/2015
There is a place you can go that is full of only love and Warmth .
you will be surrounded by a light that shines from the Heavens ,
Sprinkles of Silver and Gold.
This place is filled with brilliant colors of Purple , vibrant Gold, all colors.
not one Color is less significant then another ,
for every color is equal here .
This place is surrounded by the beauty of different Flowers.
All flowers have significance here . No one Flower is better then another .
All Flowers are equal here .
It is important you know , you can cry here , and should cry as often as needed .
For the tears will cleanse your Soul and give the Flowers water to grow.
No one Tear is insignificant here , every tear has value and not one is better then another .
money holds no value , Where you live , what you own, has no significance here .
You will be surrounded by a beautiful light that shines from the Heavens .
A shining warm light will encircle you and allow nothing to hurt you .
Hate will be shed at the door light a old jacket of no use.
There is a place of beauty and Worth.
This place will not be found on Earth .
It is a place where no one person is better then another .
Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013
I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over
Taught me to fight back
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over
He gave me my stubbornness
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over
How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over
Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on
I may stumble I may fall
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over
Sabrina Niday Hansel
Placed 1st in "Unsung Hero" 7/2014 contest
Also 3rd. in "Portrait of a Poet" 1/2014
Amid the woods and snow he saw her form,
predestined oracle he sensed this was,
her recollected glance, was lone in storm,
outside the chapel she became first cause .
Lit were the chandelier's ocher chandelles,
his heartbeat thrummed an airy rhythmic spell,
the forest snowstorm reeled - shaped ghostly belles
invited him beneath the ringing knell.
Their Angel's bliss, his soul received in flames,
adept and kind the whisper of her voice,
"- Forgiveness calms those who indulge in blames;
devoutness is the prelude of free choice."
Outside he stepped beneath the Abbey's knell:
His voice dispersed above the snow and mass,
in cold embraced the iron wrought of bells,
- as waxen light passed through the chapel's glass.
His mind and woods enjoined in forceful prayer,
spells sacrosanct and numinous instilled,
in abstinence the sanctified abbe,
abandoned Convent life to years and thrills.
Escaped then he, to meet the woods in dark,
amidst their sovereign heights he was her groom,
continuum of time and space to arc,
his childhood's wraith became in mists and tomb.
© G. V. 01-04-2012 All rights reserved
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.
We knew , it was if a moment stopped in time
hearing the news before most of the World did
He loved to fly his plane from Colorado to Monterey Bay
He was a avid golfer at Pebble Beach respected
He had loves and passions from many places
deciding to fly low through the overcast red sunset
Not only did he love music and inspire all
He loved his Plane , he will always remain a beautiful Soul
The next day it was confirmed ..all saddened
It was John Denver's plane that went down
Today in Pacific Grove stands the Memorial
So Kiss me and smile for me we will ~
always in loving memory
OH babe , do we hate you go ~
Inspired by ; contest in Music and Loss of an Artist
"Leaving on a Jet Plane "
I haste not
I fear not
in harmonious cries, I plead
where flight has called this mighty warrior
red paint upon my cheek
O cleansing smoke of wild grass high
of resin and sacred bead
a vision has taken this warrior's cry
anon, to capture a dream
I crawl through gates to reach the ledge
where spirit and smoke arise
and pluck the painted Northern Flora
and gaze through Savanna's eyes
I sensed the dance of clouds and windy drawl,
fast moving marionettes of moonlight,
conceived they passed the crannies of the soul,
and intersected solitude forthright.
The dusk descended when 'Archangel' crossed
the sight of island men, remote like wraith
and huge the blackened ship's displacement bossed
the nautilus stunned stares and childhood's faith.
Monotonous the bagpipes led to trance,
- autonomous the ship's insistent horn,
invited us to some unworldly dance
the ship regaled; that stung our souls like thorn.
We danced inside the rain while ghost bag pipes
were interlaced by sea's baptismal notes,
- betrothal waved the blue and white flag stripes,
- like coffins cradled round the wooden boats.
Embarked were we, according to their song,
thence sailed infinity upon the brines,
tho' Harpies from the ghostly mists, along,
the Hades' treated us, communion wines.
© 05-14-2013, G.Venetopoulos
We heard the owls' becrowing words,
foreboding of our steadfast grief,
they fled to dusk - two mourning birds
life's borderlines and false beliefs.
Two owls have passed, in gray and black,
straight arrows fled to vanish yon
our longest trip on railway tracks,
bemocking company and gone.
Upon our train have sat the birds,
the passengers won't go to stars;
poetic emptiness of words
that rhymes with unforgiven mars.
Unspoken are we, in the cars,
suspended is the pilot's gaze,
the rails become two iron bars
and death's advancing mauve bouquets.
The heads move with the engine's chug
like dancing poppies in the breeze,
and none among us will debug
why are we Charon's invitees.
The souls imprisoned trail along
the thrumming engine's wordless
rites and wait through nothingness and
wrongs their trip to reach uncounted heights.
© 01-19-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest Name: Night Owl
Quite frankly, I don't remember at all
You see I was quite young when I took my first fall.
Don't know which parent was there to catch me
Or how hard the decision was to stand back and let me.
Did I topple forward or backward, or who made the call.
And who scooped me up crying
After the fall.
I can't remember the joy of first letting go
And taking that step without holding on.
Groping my way forward
Leaning against the wall
I got back up
After the fall.
As the Earth spun the years flew by so fast
At 17 I finally knew everything at last!!
Unexpectedly, I fell once again,
Head over heels this time
And out on a limb.
I was so sure of that bet
I gambled it all
Heart bruised abused and then broken
After that fall.
And then I broke my own promise
To not love again.
Hungry for life
I gambled to win.
Life is a theatre of first steps first
A one act play with no time to rehearse.
Co starring in roles
Cast without planning.
"Never more" echoes
The raven still chanting.
To let darkness win all
Trusting Father to be there
After the fall.
Then the day came
When I had a son
To let him learn the word hot And hope he'd not run,
Would he still love me
Or trust me at all
When I pulled my hand back
And allowed him to fall?
And knowing I'd be there again
To help him to stand
And knowing he might never walk
If I didn't let go of his hand
And hoping he didn't revert back to a crawl
When I let go of his hand
And allowed him to fall.
As the earth kept on turning
My heart kept yearning
My son now a man
Living and learning.
He hasn't held my hand now in a very long time
The cats in the cradle slowly plays in the back of my mind.
I looked in the mirror today
And noticed my dad.
And remembered a talk that we'd never had.
Remembering how he seemed towering and tall
And was there every time
After each fall.
I lose my balance these days now and again
My steps aren't as sure
As they once might have been.
In the winter of life now
I feel so small
And wonder who'll catch me
If I take a fall.
I suppose I'll just have to trust Father
With both great things and small
To pick me up on the other side
When I take my last fall.
Life is like a coloring book
with few or many pages
filled with complex
We are given a box of crayons
and are asked to color in the
background and spaces of the images
Sub-titles are allowed.
When the coloring book is finished
we are given a new one to complete.
REINCARNATION THINKING 2 -SOUL SEARCHING
Was I once before or never
Don’t know how or even whether
I was a firefly, a bird of prey
a centipede, a fish fillet?
A baseball fan to keep the score
a mockingbird, a carnivore?
A blossom in the midst of spring
a sign of what the day might bring.
A germ grown in a Petri dish
a chicken bone an unmade wish
All things and species could I be,
even remnants of a tree.
Of all of these, I leave this post,
I am for now what I am most.
MORE QUESTIONS ON RE-INCARNATION
As 'core' beliefs thicken so,
does it leave us room to grow?
As aging souls say we must,
complete the cycle which was thrust
upon our bucolic living place
turned upside down in whorling space
searching for a redemptive life.
But for you, dearest one, do you not remember
before you arrived, you took this bucking horse of soul,
tamed it, labeled it and proclaimed it.
To become what you needed in order
that your ride be contained and controlled.
It's name is 'balance' and it keeps you level in the saddle
so you don't fall off.
REINCARNATION THINKING 3 -
If, we are on a soul journey,
then what must that soul become?
A better soul? A wiser soul?
A sad soul? A learned soul?
Until one reaches the end of time,
There are so many lives to live out
to fully experience all aspects of this world.
Animals, plants - more souls searching?
One can speculate, but from my perspective
none of it makes sense.
Was the Phoenix reincarnated?
Or was its embers reignited?
Perhaps before a lowly worm or soldier bee
or brown turned leaf upon a tree?
A seahorse, a shark, which fish shall I be?
In fisherman's net to be eaten by me?
And when the cycle is complete
and x equals x on our balance sheet.
Can we then rest in a celestial lair
with memories gone and unaware
of trials by all things forgotten?
If choose I must or chosen by me,
I'll remain in the stars and just wait to see.
The brave like Hawk descends the road,
deep red his blood, wine potion brusque,
while hidden eyes observe in dusk
the rugged man measure and bode.
The hours pass, consent to darkness;
while stardom glows above his walk,
unmarried maids of long mane talk,
about his raw strength to egress.
The tavern's close at the dockside,
where pipers play a steady mode,
the fates weave his deathly abode,
in starry Halls the stalwart guide.
A drink is life, full glass of grog,
musicians render the pipes loud,
the dim stars blink and a low cloud,
covers the shore with shrouds of fog.
Monotonous the notes of pipers wield,
the sweat drops drop from their foreheads,
while Charon waits to spill the red,
- steel bull horn blade of fine Sheffield.
Outside he steps, inside the mist,
the maids weave, his life's spend thread,
Persephone will be his wed,
his bull horn Sheffield holds in fist.
© G.V.07-02-2012, All Rights Reserved
Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”
Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”
One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But, there, to his surprise…
Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after the last one was planted,
He sniffed it; then turned and licked Bob’s face.
Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”
Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.
Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed.
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.
Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he ‘d come on the double.
Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray,
“Lord, let this day be my last.”
For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one night,
Both quietly passed away.
The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….
Stood an old dog beside the stone,
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place.
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then turned and licked her face.
She smiled. “I had a dog when I was young...
a good one too. His name was Pal.”
We stood across the ship's black painted brim,
forever weak appeared the beacon's light,
the night imperfect seemed; the stars shone dim,
(moon-flash steel's curb and twinge of Sheffield knife).
The birds' were singing in the mauve of dawn,
notes resolution of communion's chrism,
the images back then, became my dome,
and Hades' kingdom glassy rainbow's prism.
Life ornamental was, fast to dissolve,
advancing wilt, recall of distant stare,
for none was this equation to resolve,
a wine's red spill, and stars' marquee of prayer.
( I'll stay away from Aden's doleful coast
assuming that earth's blooming fields are mine,
upon the wharf a flash and I became a ghost,
a challenging recall and blade's bold shine -
- I do recall our sweetest Sunday feasts,
the teenage dreams and blue noon skies,
our bicycling along the shoreline's mists,
the nightly gatherings, our talks and smiles.)
© 04-29-2011, G.Vevetopoulos
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
It transferred like bequest's constrain;
the ghostly harbor - my sixth sense,
men's goals had died, on lives' expense,
- this notion bothered me again.
Had sent the mail - my filed advice -
the ghosts of gunmen who have died,
on moors they stood yonside old pride,
- the Rider asked his deathly price.
In air he thumped, his rhythm - gust waves;
demanding cruel new death toll;
in town each woman wore black stole,
the 'killed in duel' dwell in graves;
The Rider hummed - our vessel moored
inside this port on Nueces' edge,
much red was shed on cypress sedge
- my instincts sharpened and inured.
Tall stood he on the wharf - I knew
the wind whipped ropes upon head-mast,
- we drew the guns; he lifted fast;
my two guns bucked debt-law to ensue.
I felt the slug - he moved across,
already-a-ghost, on moors he stood;
I tasted blood - got up - I should,
with red drops staining grass and moss.
I saw her standing on the field
amid red poppies and tall trees,
her thought became my holy shield,
bestowed thenceforth, her grace in breeze.
She spread her arms and called me eft,
above the clouds to Astral Halls
athwart stood gunman - fast and deft
in Tombstone, Mobile and Sioux Falls.)
I rolled and lit a Durham smoke
with children watching me round-eyed;
that March, (I thought), a gunman died,
I heard bells' knell and two crows croak.
© G.V. 07-18-2013
(Ballad - Iambic tetrameter)
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name: Ballad (old/new)