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Metaphor Peace Poems | Metaphor Poems About Peace

These Metaphor Peace poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Peace. These are the best examples of Metaphor Peace poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

A Perfect Storm

In an open field of endless, noiseless distance,
Rolling clouds cast an impending gloom;
A welcomed and promised darkness descends.
My eyes shut as I breathe in the aroma,
In anticipation of 
The cleansing that quickly approaches.
I cloak myself in the breeze, as it promises a release..
The cool wind, calming, so gently serene...
Sweeping over my overheated skin.
Finally, the fury is perfectly unleashed down upon me.
The winds, gusting in a frenzied rush
My hair whipping haphazardly around, 
Stinging at my face.
I smirk toward the sky, as I silently, but eagerly
Await the onslaught - 
This desperate release that I longed for in secret.
It sought me out, and found me. 
I hear the angry sounds
The roaring, begging to weep alongside me.
When suddenly, the violent tears begin to fall
With a sudden, breathtaking destructiveness.
The thunder, like me, cries out in pain,
With such sadness, angry liquid bathing the parched earth.
It saturates my face, my body drenched.
As I stand in the midst of the deluge, in awe,
Crashing winds attempt to destroy me,
But cannot find the strength.
Until the tears eventually run dry,
The painful clashes and cries become silent..
The skies yield to light, as the great and
Terrible sun demands to be seen.
I open my tear-stained eyes,
And glimpse a different world before me...
Cleansed and made new.
And I cannot understand, nor
Fathom the reality...
Of the beautifully, perfect
Broken release.


Details | Free verse | |

Dementia

He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
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.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
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,
Oh well...
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.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia


Details | Free verse | |

Reality's Angel

I am Reality’s angel resting on the broad shoulders of discovery the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you there is a creator of all things He is just and patient many still have fallen into the masses of shadow wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy I have seen grown men fall like rose petals and weaklings rise into unjust leaders forever the follower of furtive evil dominating only to remain inferior the most important answers lie in the unseen regions where no sense can fully give assurance the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn grows weary because of the distance it must take and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates it is knowing we are seeking something far that could very possibly not exist, that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense it is knowing all we really think we know is meaningless and yes—even a lie all that has been written thus far rests under my wings under the warmth in which you refuse to feel can you believe in me— though I am completely unseen? how much more difficult would it be to see Him?


Details | Free verse | |

To Eden Part I

What pushes my pen in this whimsical notch of the world?

   Something whispers to me like an elder dream....
  
   and the trees hang arbored 'oer a little stream of sea,

   the feathered folk flit and flute,

   and sip the may-season rill;


Where sun has finally come dipping like a diamond.....

   I am measured to this mighty moment found;

   and there is holly even in the most forgotten shade,

   though royal (even) ----- with garland diadems made 


It would seem the angels have foretold this:

   to not forget the most beauteous of days;

   with proud hours honeyed, 

   the long-loving minute endures in thy heart,

   and remembers the kiss of legends

   despite realms of sadness and dark,

   the withered wind which blows old upon the sad hills....

   too ancient for wise men; for in youth how pink the heart

   and varied, new struggles are many -----

   yet plain with simple solutions


Mercy hath not a mind for memory....

   swift its song, its house clean of enemies lurking,

   no bogey-man skulking the midnite hour,

   no roving-a-wraith scratching the old attic boards;


Forgiveness sleeps in the quiet wood, 

   and wakes with whispers of faith,

   with the ease of nestled lambs and recollected days;

What poor tragedy to fret with dark remembrance,

   to furl hades in the denizens of thy heart ----

   black-tongued as the devil in his den!


What fool would prefer a scowl to a smile?

   enemies come and go.....

   friends come and remain,

   when the house is quiet with memories....

   of youth and adventure in the old daydream glass;

   more precious the ancient hours 

   and parched the pages of first chapters,

   first beginnings, first faces in the ripples of time's pond;


Details | Free verse | |

Just Be

Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass. 
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are. 

Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment. 
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
Just be.
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers, 
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.

Jacob Reinhardt
10/07/13


Details | Free verse | |

Who Am I

A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment 
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.

One after another they arrive
Single file,
Steeping my eyes in the world 
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering 
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.

My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?

Jacob Reinhardt
10/3/2013


Details | Rhyme | |

AUDIO VISUAL

AUDIO VISUAL
What is a fight without a cause? Is it just a hidden affair that has no voice? Only knowledge that cannot be divulged and when discussed, the topic is irrelevant. Mentality is a place of iniquity. Mediums are designed by civil engineers to place mentally captured vestibules; those, which will manifest identities. You can hear their mundaneness in their conversation. You do not want to speak to a naked wall. As a result, they enter your vocal environment. For that reason, you speak out. ___________________________________|
penned on october 24, 2014!


Details | Blank verse | |

AU COURANT AU FAIT THE HEART OF IMAGINATION ABREAST

AU COURANT AU FAIT – THE HEART OF IMAGINATION ABREAST
The invention of the automobile is a thing to ponder. In words of the heart of imagination, the temperament wonders why divine providence gave the sense of knowledge of those natural resources that predefined the automobilist. Medical science is even more radical to design machinery that tells about our brain and body. Hardly conceived is their intelligence, the questions are answers hidden. I imagine that deity would be exposure to another vestibule with biblical emergence. The status of a country being oppressed is imagine by who defines the Antichrist. We have seen in the time of Joseph Stalin, Adolf Hitler, and now reign Vladimir Putin. Can you imagine the words to define suppression with the heart of a warrior depicting the coming mêlée? The imagination portrays the brilliance of today to evolution and the procreation of humankind. What do men seek via Social Science? A world that is no longer divine but a mind that divides to discovery a new way of life. I imagine that divinity is vested on earth because of lack of appearance of a known God. The imagination questions prior occurrences aboard and at home. We are our insight and inspiration via an unknown God. I imagine that religion imperceptibility will become a theological pre-cognizant of The School of Social Theology, which is demarcated as the heart of imagination discerned by word utilization. Do you imagine the same? Are similarities being disseminated? Facilitated via a school of thought, suppressed knowledge will come forth to take the outer limits to higher grounds. Were heavens are immortalized. In essence, these words have been pre-constructed to predefine the heart of imagination.
____________________________________________|
Penned on October 18, 2014!


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: IV

God made all people
But some better than others?
Stop being silly.


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: VI

The body: sacred
We’re all made in God’s image
Hence... circumcision?


Details | Haiku | |

Patience Hears

birds retort
wind whispers riddles untold
patience hears


Details | I do not know? | |

My Wishes are Simple





My Wishes are Simple


My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.



My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.



My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.





Details | Epic | |

Simply being

Simply being
Nothing more than 
Than it is gone out of hand
No winds to flow to grow in land
Given bright stars in darkness

Nothing more than  
Light years rose hope
Back flush riddles in game
Only hope once to face to face

As seen bleeding in tears


Details | Epic | |

Isigin Dusu-II

Senle ve sensiz bir hic
Yururum yolumda
Korkmadan yasamin
Senle sensiz bir hic

Bir dag yamacinda ucurum hayatim senle sensiz bir hic
Yasam dersem kabulum agit yakilmis sevdamiza
Hikayesi  umit olsa da  acsa  cicek olsa sevda yaylalarda
Senle sensiz bir hic  bilerim  tasinmaz yasanmaz  nefesimiz

Bir cicek sevda yaylada ruzgarla esen
Kosma  olumune  desem  kimse dinlemez  
Ruzgarlar  sallar eser gullu  basma  bedenini 
Saklar saclarini yazmali basortusu dantelli
Akar bir nehir  sevdayla senle ve sensiz hic
Bir  koca cinar  bolunmus toprak yarik yarim
Amansiz nehir  akar  bolunur  delinen kalbim 
Senle ve sensiz bir hic  canim sevdam
Cok  canlar  oldu telef gozyasi oldu tasti  irmak
Cok analar yakti agit  kan kirmizi  irmak

Cok kahpe planlar hoyratca  goz yumanlar
Cok aci  kahkahalar oyunu  sessizce  oynatanlar
Senle ve sensiz alkis tutanlar bir hic  utancim
Gelecegim senle sensiz 
Isigin dusu  umidim cocuklarim


Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation



The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.








Details | Rhyme | |

Shimmering Darkness

She woke up everyday 
to the beckoning of death's toll. 
But decided to embrace life, 
pulling herself from the darkened hole. 

With a new brightness in her eyes, 
she lived life as partially buried gold. 
Never afraid of the darkness, 
or what the future may hold. 

Shimmering beneath the dirt, 
her beauty shall now unfold. 
True legacy lies hidden to reign, 
for a prodigy has risen from bitter cold. 

One example of grace goes far, 
farther then any story ever told. 
With strength that comes from deep within, 
that's been held from days of old. 

Among the majority she lived, 
witnessing atrocities flare. 
From her soul she would always give, 
though no one seemed to care. 

As the bells of sadness began to ring, 
she would rise above the gloom. 
Out of darkness and despair she would sing, 
with a melody that filled the room. 

The tears that had fallen proved as strength, 
to her ever-impending light. 
Onward traveling to any length, 
for what she believed was right. 

When darkened paths shimmer, 
despite the pangs of apathy, 
through life she will always glimmer, 
no matter what the tragedy.


-Collab with Dan Kearley! You're the best, Dan!


Details | I do not know? | |

The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries

The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries.

Epochs apart, yet,
bound by conscience,

Buddha, 
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.

Enduring the whispers of time,
through creeds professed,
sermons preached,
and a million sins confessed.

Though,

the essence,
of these banished revolutionaries,
is ceremonially muted by ritual,
and gleefully crushed under,
grandiose edifices,
that serve Religion Inc.

"And the meek shall inherit the earth",
an incendiary thought,
conveniently discarded,
for the pie in the sky that must be sought.

The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
stings.
stabs,
whispers still,
for us to hear,
through the din of the cacophony of prayer.

Buddha,
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.

The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
persists,
each day that we choose,
to shun the meek,
and mouth conscience-salving prayers,

for yet more silver,
and yet more silk.


Details | Verse | |

Silent sound

As night should fall and the bat flying in the nightly sky, I stand there at my window gazing into space light shimmering, singing the silent sound of my music.


Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Dessert in the Deserted Desert

Boiling, baking and blazing,
               Other synonyms for heat.
My camel is happily dazing,
	He was not a restful seat.
Poolside I’ll later be lazing,
	Resting my sunburnt feet.
Air conditioning is amazing,
               Ice cream is a lovely treat.


Details | I do not know? | |

Love Endures

Love floats by,


reaching,
tantalising,
meandering,


tip-toeing past pain,


leaping through walls,
weakening the barricades,


of the most private heart.



Love settles in,


trusting,
searching,
dissolving,


quietly beyond anguish,


erasing the desolation,
soothing a battered spirit,
enveloping the shivering soul.



Love stays, it is true,


love endures, as do you






Details | Free verse | |

I'm Back

Hey, did you hear the sounds of a sorrowed heart
slowly thumping away in the evening sunsets?
There he is, baby, the man they call;
"The Blue Poet"
there he is in the flesh
with a book of poems in his hand,
look at the whores and the smiles turn to him
and say to him, "Where have you been?"
They look at him and he looks at us.
He sits at his desk,
he lits a cigarette and smokes.
He opens the big book of poetry that he had in his hand
and started to read.
There was a smile on his face,
reading to all of us;
as we sat around his greatness and glory
and we listened to his great poetry.
He looked at us through the dark
and with eyes a blazed and a smile so bright
he opened his mouth and out came the words of
a sorrowed heart and a master at his finest hour,
and he said in a calm voice;
"I'm Back, baby!"
And we all cheered,
and he smiled and drank his glass of red wine
and smoked his cigarette
He leaned back in his chair and watched us all
stand and cheer.
If you looked closely,
you could see a single tear form in his eye
and roll down his rough cheek.
The Blue Poet was back,
and this time he stayed.

-10/23/2013-

A dedication to myself. I am sorry to all my fellow fans and followers and poets and poetesses, I had left you all without a trace of ever returning, but now I am back and here to stay!


Details | Classicism | |

Painter of Minds

I once met a man, in the forrests of Tibet.
His counternance was pale yet his name was Robinette.
Past the clearing of the Belt and down into the bottomneck stream
is where he lived in isolation with a gift of crafting dreams

With just a scroll and his ink he could conquer Goliath
a GIFT THAT enscribes him a legend, a self-imposed pariah
His mind was unhinged so the words were unhindered,
never once did he blink,lest his memories squandered

he would wield that pen,  the greatest painter of minds
would surrender each soul with the lies he devised
he would keep an accounting of the words in each page
in all of those scribbles, were  worlds to be named.

Those words made me sleep, guarding my peace
rendering this beast to a ransom release
The sentences were a rhythm that I could breathe
the punctuation of which, was smooth-calm light breeze

As I browed, frowned into the pages that were
So too the the vast letters my eyes chauffeured
mY senses mangled, my vision blurred
this was more than a vision, this was my life's metaphor

So the PAINTER MINDS,did paint me a dream
scratched out my boundaries and stroked in a stream
created new paradise, and new heavens unearthed
but the later was not to be, and the former re-emerged.


Details | I do not know? | |

I Stand, Alone



I stand, alone.

Scratching for my truths,
peeling away the veneer,

I stand, alone, before this
impregnable cliff so sheer.

Cocooned in my solitary shell,
wrenching a smile from a tear,

I stand, alone, a little odd,
and definitely quite queer.

I stand, alone.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Sieve of Time



The Sieve of Time



Cast ashore,
along the banks of time,

whirling through the passing years,
clinging to my futile scribbles set in rhyme,


Cast ashore,
thrust into an unrehearsed pantomime,

clenching slivers of joy as weariness descends,
lulled into a peaceful slumber exhilaratingly sublime.


Cast ashore,
hazily adrift, a dandelion seed on the wings of time,

trapped in the sieve of spiralling memories,
caught between pristine bliss, and reeking slime.


Cast ashore,
flung aside for no discernible crime,

my human heart thuds with elusive hope,
though battered, bruised, and covered in grime,

I stagger ashore, 

alone,

embracing each moment of detached, oblivious time.



Details | I do not know? | |

The Glow of Soft Truths

the glow of soft truths
tucked between the folds of the heart

radiates through the coarse fabric of each fleeting day

transcending the hurdles that litter the way

extinguishing the trepidation and the unfounded fears away

beyond the very now with an eye firmly gazing towards the coming morrow

where genuine peace may be found while dispelling the nasty sting and the solitary sorrow

and when that moment is finally found

when peace and mirth is felt all around

the bliss may seem plentiful, and the being with simple joy may abound

without a word being spoken

without the din, the static of the endless drone

so infused with soothing music, yet hardly making a sound

for the truth of peace that lies in wait

just beyond the corner

is a truth that may never be sought

or bought

for that truth of peace must be ushered inside

until deep in the soul it will then quietly reside...


Details | I do not know? | |

A Chipped Heart

A Chipped Heart...


Dreaming, my heart brittle as glass,
my solitary facade a pitiful farce,

shards tearing out of my skin,
seeking release, from cages within,

I am lost, in the dream,
bellowing out a silent scream,

torn from reality, drowning in the now,
yet I refuse,
I refuse to succumb,

I refuse to bow.



My chipped heart, may be wounded,
wreathed in pain,

still,

I believe, love, truth, belonging,

will take my hand,

again...


Details | Sonnet | |

MOM OF GAZA OR A BANNED SONNET



An omnipotent'd been ideated by militant clan,
Aeons tell how it put them through a social pace.
To set up abode or to relate races with astute plan,
God had its genesis;women-men needed it to seek solace.


As fact a woman conceives, is manifest
Man couldn't conceive of anything but God for law and lex.
Dyed-in-the-wool,they kept bending head for mending mind lest
They vex orders of war, worship and women for sex.


But missile killed gravid woman with faded hue,
Her baby survived in placenta of its mom of Gaza:
A whole race, policies, religion; yet nothing to rue,
As if all were busy computing to bring future bonanza.
  

No more sacred are our Temple and Church or Mosque and tomb.
Truth says:fetus Jesus'd been bestowed on Mary's womb!


Details | I do not know? | |

Passion in D-Major

Passion in D-Major


Feeling, the sensuous brush-
strokes on a canvas,

swirling,

to a symphonic crescendo,

of our shared heartbeats,

fading between the notes,

feeling your soft body entwined 
with mine,

your form bathed in my infinite 
kisses,

our orchestral desire rising,

conducting a shared fusing of 
passion,

... the music echoing ...

over the precipice,

on the brink of dazzling rainbow 
hues,

lost in the void,
of an eternal instant,

plunging through the depths of 
rhyme,

pleading,
forever pleading,

for a prolonged,

bouquet of shared time.


Details | I do not know? | |

She

She

She smiled, gently,
her warmth infusing me,
with a serene stillness of time.

She settled, slowly,
in my waking thoughts,
a soothing balm of simple joy.

She remains, scribbled,
on the walls of my fractured heart,
memories of happiness that once breathed...



Details | I do not know? | |

Blasphemy

Blasphemy

The caustic tongues of the evangelists,
Across all creeds and faiths,
Seem as brittle as an old bone.

For they promise heaven and they spew forth threats of hell
While neglecting the words of that man who walked in Galilee

'let him who is without sin, cast the first stone'

the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

across all religions
new-age and the ones of old
baffle me even as I hear
a single simplistic sermon

for they really do, view us all
as blind imbeciles
scurrying around like faithless vermin


the caustic tongues of the evangelists...

wag on and dazzle us with visions of an eternal paradise
while here and now
their hypocrisy festers
within their earnest
well-meaning eyes...


'...dil mein hai khwaaish-e-hoor-o-jannat
aur zaahir mein shauk-e-ibaadat
bas hamen sheikh-ji aap jaise
allah-waalon se allah bachaaye...'


'...in your heart you desire the maidens of heaven
yet in the now you practice the rituals of piety
o' sheikh, may allah protect me
from the people of allah like yourself...'

is my tongue as caustic as the tongues I write about?
if so, then glad am I
for they shouldn't be the only ones
who preach and rant and continually shout

from their pulpits ever so high in the sky
from their hubris of comfort in possessing the 'truth'

from their 'knowing' that heaven or hell
awaits both the strong as well as the meek

while oblivious to the reeking foul smell
that encourages prejudice and hate
and visions not of peace
but of endless chants and prayers

which they, in their opium haze
rattle on and on
as they never seem to cease to speak

and though I’m sure that all this bile that I have spewed
will threaten
hurt
and offend

friend and
unfriend and
acquaintance alike

but...

take pity on me instead
for it'll surely be I
who'll burn eternally
impaled by a benevolent god
on a slightly warmer than normal day in hell

on a crude wooden spike.


Details | Haiku | |

Haiku 2

What doesn't kill me
Neither does it make me strong
Always heal within 


Details | Couplet | |

The Scent of Water

Her man was woven into love spell
By another woman, not of her smell. 

Bewitchery, she will not tolerate
To the perfumery she’ll calculate.

Apothecary had the perfect answer 
An exotic earthy whiff from vetiver! 

Happy she was her man found her erotic -
But, alas, it was only episodic!

She spritzed the air with essence of rose petal -
Then a reminiscence of the betrayal!

Love and romance the attar generated 
Very soon enough it evaporated.

Memorable scent of basil she wore next,
Pleasurable things her man not to forget,

In vain, it was she who cannot forget -
In her mind fresh the err her man had make,

Scent of her rival made her green with envy,
Scent of betrayal made her very angry,

Desperate but hopeful, she went to a lone edifice; 
Temperate and humble, the scent of water brought her peace. 


7/14/14


Details | Free verse | |

The Sculptor

I feel Him chip away at my flesh.
The vibrations shake to my bones.
Pieces that were once part of me now fall helplessly to the floor.

Every scrape of the chisel,
Every pound of the hammer,
Every piece that is broken from me stings with immense pain.

Why doesn't He stop?
Why is The Sculptor so cruel?
Doesn't He realize that each swing He takes is a nightmare to me?

I would be better off as stone that was never touched,
I would be more content without the suffering that comes apon me,
But I wouldn't be a work of art.

Each chip of the chisel is intended to remove a piece that shouldn't be there.
Each pound of the hammer is meant to force the hideous fragments far from me.
Each move The Sculptor makes, takes me closer to His plan for me.

I must trust, knowing that He never takes off too much.
I must be ready, knowing that He never leaves His work incomplete.
I must be thankful, knowing that I am being made beautiful in His eyes.

The acute pain is only a short part of His plan.
The lasting anguish fades in its own time.
Though heart, and soul, and body all grieve, the permanent state will be that of finished work.

I may not know the reason for each strike,
I may not know the fault with each sundered chunk,
And I may never know.

I know the sting of the chisel now,
I know The Sculptor has a plan,
My part is to trust that He will not work forever ... but that He will be done.


Details | I do not know? | |

Port of Call

Port of Call


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

with the breath of the ocean a caressing balm,
soothing pained memories away,
to the swaying of a solitary palm.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

feeling the brushing away of all past turmoil,
on a quest for solace, ever so hard to find,
yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,
as the tide cleanses all pain,
and leaves despair far, far behind.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,
that hushes the ache of bygone moons,
tasting the salty tang on my lips,
as the burnished sun,
over the distant horizon,
swoons,

and dips.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

searching, ever searching,
for a slice of solitude,
as memory bids a final adieu,
reaching under the sea so vast,
and seeking comfort in the depths,
while embracing,
the tomorrows to come,
wishing that they be true.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

seeing my truths drown,
as they slip beneath the turquoise waters,

feeling my heart ablaze,
with a passion that rarely falters.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

yet knowing that I am home at long last,
wishing the waves would wash away,
the defences that once stood,
like an impregnable wall.


Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

I have found, at long last,

my final port of call.


Details | I do not know? | |

For Bob Dylan

Ramblin' Bob Dylan Blues
(For Bob Dylan)



Why does the sun dry up so many scattered tears

slipping down the coarse cheek of a million hushed fears

where no one is scalded though the searing fog clears

while prayers are mutely spoken even as the end nears

We shatter and scrape on demented knees

Blindly begging for mercy as it silently flees

Searching listlessly for salvation drowned in the breeze

That spits at the soft rose suffocated by a wheeze


I know now what I need never have known

Of hope that was trampled before it had flown

Into a wasted sky filled with hate that could drown

The giggling of the crowd and the crying of the clown


A hope so fragile that its wings were of brittle glass

Ripping the veneer off the sewers of class

Twisting the fabric of the weighed and costed mass

Who numbly waited hoping that it too may pass


For when shards of that hope in all hearts scurries away

To a darkness where crowded night is emptied off the heaving tray

'Tis then when sewn eyes shall behold that doleful day

When all shall tear at each other while on demented knees we still shall pray


For a lifting of the veil of that wilful deceit

That's wrapped up in a flag swollen with conceit

While the limbs splinter in the claw of a winner's defeat

Yet still the drums roll for the ill-fated souls chose never to retreat


From that drenched battle-ground where blood flows through a sieve

And love's lost song plaintively begs for a reprieve

From eternal loss which into raw emotion does cleave

Only to slip through the fingers and like grains of sand, leave.


Details | Free verse | |

Faith Healer

The odor is intolerable
Like a foul beast clinging to the end 
I can barely subdue its subterfuge 
But here I am, 
I’m standing here of sound and mind
Waiting for the time that answers my own questions

Can it race with the fires of Orc?
Doubtful, but it can jog steadily can’t it?
The weather is awful, filled with sounds
Penetrating a document not written
It pains me to fight through the night
Not because it’s dark, but because I am just a shadow.

Lester drives but
Motional lasts forever
Still driving
Still crying
And slowly dying as time waves on
Like oceans that can’t be seen.

Nobody cares and everyone listens
Ironic, like a bible that holds lies and deception
Can its will be pierced?
Can freedom stay free?
Is it worth it to stay hooked when everyone around
Seeks liberty?


Details | I do not know? | |

The Seeds of Acceptable Hate

The Seeds of Acceptable Hate


Between the folds of faith and belief, 

tucked neatly in cushioned corners, 

lie the seeds of acceptable hate.



Through quaint pleasant rituals, 

and joyously hummed words, 

dumbed down thoughts

and dazed faces exude, 

righteous sweetness.



Belief wrapped in glistening foil, 

faith painted in gaudy colours, 

concealing the murmurs of hate, 

of embraced intolerance, 

and welcomed bigotry.



The seeds of acceptable hate flourish in damp fungal minds, 

as indifference flowers into the silence of frozen apathy, 

with blooming petals of finely measured howls of rage.



All the while the ever smiling faces beam with deep pride, 

drenched in all the pious tears they've cried.



And so it is that the viral seeds of acceptable hate 

thrive among the genteel folk that quietly gaze, 

in silence at the slow creeping of the horror.



As more seeds of hate are sown with manic zeal, 

and in the shrieking of this cowardly silence, 

the seeds of acceptable hate, 

continue to thrive, 

and to germinate.


Details | I do not know? | |

For Aung San Suu Kyi

For Aung San Suu Kyi

manacled
you remained unyielding
bruised by their bayonets of power
you remained unyielding
gagged by their coarse brutality
you remained unyielding
today you return
and we salute
your spirit
that remained
and remains
unyielding


Details | I do not know? | |

with thanks to Don Henley

with thanks to Don Henley...

...an echo of her laugh

whispers past

a simple joy, a gentle breeze

of quiet reflection that can never last

the fleeting innocence once drifting along

then disappearing into the notes of that Don Henley song

the end, he sang, of the innocence once felt

of days and of nights of serene peace

gone forever now, 

for into the night's void everything must eventually melt

though the memories and the thoughts 

and the echoes of her whispers

settled this gypsy heart, putting it at ease

but that's all long gone now

even though the echoes of her whispers

seem never to cease...


Details | Rhyme | |

Love's Call

When Love calls us gently by our name,
we stop and listen to her familiar voice – 
One we recognized even before our conception. 
Silently we are humbled by Love’s delicate expression
that softens our hearts and eases our minds 
likes the effect of a baby’s  innocence on
a mother after birth; forgetting all the pain she
embraces this new life into her bosom,
in awe and wonder. 

When Love calls us proudly by our name, 
we no longer have to hide in isolation
or shame, forced to accept enduring
suffering and pain. Like a lioness 
protecting her cubs, Love provides protection
and comfort in the outbreak of danger and fear. 
Her might will prove that her foes of hatred
and fear are only companions of lies who 
sought in vain to do us harm. 

When Love calls us kindly by name, 
we will know that we are at home,
where we are welcomed, accepted, 
and always able to kick off our shoes,
whether we are happy or singing the blues. 
Like friends who have known each
other for years, Love embraces
the beauty of our personhood and dries our tears. 
She knows who we are all too well.
And since Love knows us and has called our name,
Our response to life has never been quite the same. 
Because of Love’s call, our lives are changed. 


Details | Free verse | |

Esperar

I love that moment before the storm.
The world goes silent
and dozes and snores.

A prayer summons this bliss to last;
for regular breath,
much unlike the past.

Peace that ends in a series of pours. 
Inevitable.
Thunder snaps the core.

The world's awake and is frantic.
Breath turns to howls.
Rain. Tears. Panic.


Details | Blank verse | |

Computational people

People in the history
Make a different story
People in the country
They are called mystery

A gradual change happened
Living beings of not pulsated 
Life is a struggle of extended
Without stick of blind folded

Having captured a snapshot a profile
Perambulate like aimless animal
Aggregate and run for the life of final
Become a destitute in elite dark tunnel 

Someone wants to halt and to look around
To see the motion of world everyday around
To make a concrete direction forward
How it is mad to judge people mind

Udaya R. Tennakoon




  


Details | I do not know? | |

An 02h00 Scribble

a 2:00 AM scribble...

'twas but a lifetime ago
when she floated as if in a dream

when the whistling winds
called out her name

while the truth was revealed
of her love supreme

she walked into the barren landscape of my world

and carved-up an exclusive place

excising the pain as the standard of love fluttered in the breeze once it was unfurled

she walked into the solitary vacuum of a heart rendered mute

instilling in that heart a passion that became impossible to refute

a passion blazing with renewed belief

with solitude consigned to the shadows

and despair shunned into the night like an scurrying thief

her touch was gentle, her manner warm and light

her love an endless sea of possibility

washing up against the shores of my moonless night

and when that burst of colour came through

like a dozen rainbows in the monsoon twilight

her face like a revelation shone

as I silently, in awe, gazed at that miraculous sight

and though a lifetime ago it seems

she regularly dances between the cotton-wool clouds of my dreams

and she infuses my each and evey moment with a love so strong

that effortlessly soothes me knowing that I belong

in the haven of her warm embrace

as I gaze lovingly 
at her wondrous face

and into those eyes that pull me closer into the ocean of desire

while my spirit soars up into the heavens, ever so higher

it takes but a moment with her to know

that these feelings shall prevail

for they diminish not, as they continually grow

spawning a paradisical garden of emotion and love

and being entwined in her arms seems like a gift from above

for here is where I always hope to be

anchored safely by her side, and not adrift in the emptiness of the vast lonesome sea

so allow me to thank thee
for the lifeline you cast as I lay drowning in thought

and for being the treasure trove of love that I have always sought

so stay well, sweet one
and remember me once or twice in a moon of blue

and know forever that these scribbled words

are deeply felt and forever shall be, eternally true...




Details | I do not know? | |

SSRI's and I

SSRI's and I ...


... the sounds of thoughts clattering, my neurones sparking,
like Dylan said, my morning recedes jingling and a-jangling,

worn down by this leaden knot, tearing my insides out,
the cacophony drowned in a whisper, lost in a silent shout,

dreams and screams scratching the back of my dry throat,
caged in, liberation hovering like a mirage beyond the moat.


I claw my way, slowly, through a thicket of solitude,
feeling my emotions peeling, stung by unseen nettles,

crawling to an open field, to rest, beneath a sky ablaze with stars,
as my mind glides, brushing the soft grass as it peacefully settles ...







Details | Free verse | |

Cap N Gown (Angel of Sadness)

I know you wanna see me in cap-n-gown 
A fresh breeze and a new way of life is what I found 
So please don’t cry 
When you don’t see me in my cap-n-gown 
In and out of foster homes 
My only comfort was pulling this holster alone 
From school to football practice 
Academy award winner 
my moms was the number one actress 
From football practice 
to back to those two huge oak trees 
A metaphor is simply that cold winters choked my knees 
And I know it’s gonna hurt 
Seeing “Class of 2005” imprinted on my shirt 
Maybe it’s me being selfish 
But how could I not tell you without a kiss 
Like me expecting to go to war 
and forgetting to enlist 
High school memories was fun and games 
Embarrassment was done in by shame 
Senior days are now numbered 
Summer smirks ever so humble 
Along with my peers 
my misery is pumping me up to fumble 
Still I know you wanna see me in cap-n-gown 
A fresh breeze and new way of life is what I found 
So please don’t cry 
When you don’t see me in my cap-n-gown 



Details | I do not know? | |

The Deluge

The Deluge.

finally the deluge

skipping in rhythmic heartbeats
the softly sprinkling rain

hums and lulls and cajoles and comforts
the weary evening
 
glistening leaves
on beaming trees
 
blades of grass shimmer
like rough diamonds strewn about
 
and settling in my heart
is the softly lilting touch
of peace
of truth
 
of the rain clearing away
the debris of this passing day
 


Details | Free verse | |

Within Captivation

As time fades into the night, the cleansing of the day...
when all of daylight is seen in the shadows tucked away...
there is an untold venture of unseen lives in untouched sight...
all the troubles endured hide inside the light.
In darkness, memories come a reminder of the past.
All evils that lay within us, covet solitary tears.
Holding us within it's dark embrace, caressing all of our fears. 
Yet, there are the quiet moments...
When a single mirrors another soul.
Such a loving rarity, feeling whole.
The light seems but a foreign place.
Appearing golden in dreams.
Against the thoughts of normalcy, a voice to recognize amongst the screams.
There is no guide to follow.
Each journey remains indifferent from the very start.
Knowing of loves intention, we leave pieces of our heart.


Details | I do not know? | |

Love, Mania, and Verse

Love, Mania, and Verse

The pendulum swings,
while the mania in my head,
strips me bare and yanks me,
into the cauldron of love.

Once again,
never divining the tea leaves,
knowing, always knowing,
the gnawing knots of unease,
that curl into a fist.

My isolation is a shield,
a suit of armour,
tightly clad around my self,
once worn,
then discarded,
taking its place,
on my barren shelf.

Love, mania and verse,
coalesce, beseeching me,
with timeous forewarning,
not to tread into the quicksand,
that slippery bog of promise.

Yet,
in times past,
in moments present,
tis' that very promise,
that I cling to.

At times I lose,
myself in the crowd,
rebelling in the solitude found there,

at times I claw,
my way back to the now,
aching for the pain that stings,

the buried voice that sings,
dirges to forgotten emotions,

scribbled verse that flings,
the toys out of my cot,

while I wait,
for the mania to stop,

knowing,
always knowing,
that it shall be,

merely a matter of time,
before the other shoe,
must, as always, 
drop.


Details | I do not know? | |

WARNING: Soppy Love Scribble

Walk with me,
in this lonely world,

where hearts are casually broken,
and kind words rarely spoken.

Take my hand,
on this highway of brittle glass,

where love is traded like blue-chip shares,
and bank-balances are coveted as priceless wares.

Smile with me,
as we walk hand in hand,

as the ocean tickles our toes on the cool beach sand.

Smile with me,
and I shall smile too,

we may not have much,

but you will have all of me,

and I will have all of you.


Details | Free verse | |

Woman, Old Man, and Flowers II

	(painting by Max Ernst, 1923)

Which is she and which is he
and where are the flowers?
Somewhere between archaic ceremony 
and robotics. No feet no chest. 
Arms stretched toward a sea
that rides its bloody crest of waves
and mattress foam under a metal 
sky, metaphor of the future 
of a continent with so many wars 
behind/before it.


Details | I do not know? | |

They Do Not See Me at All

They Do Not See Me at All

they do not see me at all...

as I walk through these desecrated avenues

of soul-deadening frenzy

I see them all rushing past me

and no matter how hard I try to holler and to call

they do not see me at all

it seems at times, that invisible am I

for when I reach out, and shriek out, and when on my knees I crawl

they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

I have tried to raise their ire, I have taunted and goaded them, till exhausted and fatigued, to the cold damp ground I fall

still they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

I stand mutely then and wave my hands all around while scribbling verses in my unintelligible scrawl

and yet they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

they rush past me, knocking me over without ever looking back

and then trampling over my fallen form, they look past my limp crumpled shadow, as they whine on in their monotonous drawl

for they do not see me at all

and when at last I see them look my way, and as a flicker of recognition crosses their faces

I wish to crawl back into my nothingness

where they cannot see me at all


Details | Free verse | |

Hollywood Homework

Since im an overbudget million dollar man
i should know how to act out one of the perfect lives
three of them a part of a matrix of pulling off a utopia
what life lessons do these actors need to act out
for the audience to understand which part of the holy plan we are at
which part of the rapture for peace can we all act out
the golden child metaphor no longer leaves you walking a red carpet grave
the hand you are dealing yourself you learn to stack your own deck

Muse of inspiration of such an elaborate plan
of writers, singers actors, working together in unison
step by step
scene by scene of three perfect lives that pull of world peace
the big plan for the planet to watch the show, and cheerlead them by song
if you have a job or are alive
either way you are hired to do this
a plan you cannot fail
because you will get it eventually
the world is a stage
welcome to the planet


Details | Free verse | |

Walls of Berlin (Angel of Sadness)

Will I grieve you, only if you grieve me 
Said you couldn’t rest 
So I lay in this casket with you 
A bouquet in a basket, why risk the truth 
Delusional I may be 
A happy ending, a sympathetic conclusion 
Is something we’d pay to see 
Cross your arms and lay with me 
The aspects it’s okay to be 
You or me, whom shall we grieve 
There are certain things I need from you 
Like we feed 
There are pertinent things I need you to do 
As we grow to be adults 
We simply do what needs to be done 
Across from the morgue 
Smiling faces soaked in with the sun 
Outside these walls of Berlin 
Suited individuals call for her sins 
Will you grieve me, only if I grieve you 
Through the many hours of this day 
Tragic circumstances flower our May 
In a declining sun set it reflects from my window pane 
A metaphor of my life lived in feign 
As if I demand that you be my friend 
Take this childs hand to the end 
Down those spiral steps 
Admire the depths of a single breath 
Your or me, whom shall we grieve? 
A mother dropped her bags to comfort her daughter 
On and on through the years she brought her 
These missing links of murder 
Kissing a stench never before heard of 
Full of bars, cool as scars 
Precious jewels of mars 
Like I lost my tongue 
I’ll start a thousand wars 
For I will not be forgotten!!! 


Details | Free verse | |

Walls of Berlin (Angel of Sadness)

Will I grieve you, only if you grieve me
Said you couldn’t rest
So I lay in this casket with you
A bouquet in a basket, why risk the truth
Delusional I may be
A happy ending, a sympathetic conclusion
Is something we’d pay to see
Cross your arms and lay with me 
The aspects it’s okay to be
You or me, whom shall we grieve
There are certain things I need from you 
Like we feed
There are pertinent things I need you to do
As we grow to be adults
We simply do what needs to be done
Across from the morgue
Smiling faces soaked in with the sun
Outside these walls of Berlin
Suited individuals call for her sins
Will you grieve me, only if I grieve you
Through the many hours of this day 
Tragic circumstances flower our May
In a declining sun set it reflects from my window pane
A metaphor of my life lived in feign
As if I demand that you be my friend 
Take this childs hand to the end
Down those spiral steps 
Admire the depths of a single breath
Your or me, whom shall we grieve?
A mother dropped her bags to comfort her daughter
On and on through the years she brought her
These missing links of murder 
Kissing a stench never before heard of 
Full of bars, cool as scars
Precious jewels of mars
Like I lost my tongue 
I’ll start a thousand wars
For I will not be forgotten!!!