I dreamed a black; an onyx lake
before the sun’s first dawning rays
its surface marble smooth and makes
no sound without the warmth of day
I saw myself; a ghost it seemed
stripped naked on the grassy floor
beneath the waning moon’s cold beams
just staring at the other shore
From far away a whip-poor-will
called lonely, just a sleepy song
it tickled in the morning chill
and broke the water’s pull – so strong
to slip into that silent space
where never lived a false love’s face
When you miss a child,
Of your very own,
That is your flesh and blood,
You begin to wonder,
Where did you go wrong,
In your own life,
Instead of looking,
At the beautiful life,
This you must remember,
So many of the difficult times,
Cause of the times you did share together,
For your children will remember more,
Than you really want to give them credit for,
And they will always remember you,
As their loving parent,
For loving them so much,
More than you will ever know,
And you will never forget them,
Just as you hope,
You will never be forgotten,
From their lives,
Your love is like a fall’s crisp kiss
I can walk a thousand miles to get away from you
I can swim to the bottom of the ocean blue
I can fly a million feet up, way high in the air
I can pretend each day that I just don’t care
Yet I am sorry for the way I acted, the words I left unspoken
When I think of how we ended, my heart feels way too broken
Do you really feel this way, my presence do you not miss?
You made it clear your heart has no place for me anymore
I will move on and hope to find another to love like you
I will walk away, our memories in my heart I’ll store
Never allowing my mind to believe that it is true
For I loved, I lost. But as a friend I will never again tell
That you hold my heart forever, you are my Angel.
You were a shining Star.
Few of many in the sky.
Looking up so very high,
Not knowing why you are.
Close and set you are far.
Spinning flames knot a tie,
I note a pattern just like pi.
Colliding with me you spar.
So burn it up and burn away,
Sow your heart upon a plane.
Chart your distance in the clay.
Burn it all up then call it sane.
The explosion in the sky is His death.
All burned up He has no last breath.
(R) Registered: 2013 Ann Rich
what makes the heart feel for something it can't touch?
his tears caused contractions for his heart to pulse
floundered, looking for loves heartache to clutch
whimsical solace of her essence startles his impulse
shouldering the bane of a kiss that foreshadowed trifles
kooky huh? how time unleashes emotions restrained behind pride
losing his beloved inamorata to an admirer she mollycoddles
his heart became friable to the echo of her suicide
It was the absence of a note that left his worries unverified
what makes the heart feel for something it can't touch?
Now alone and without; a lovers heart is mummified
he will never love another as much
the “ghost orchid” has become her epithet
the rules of this game have changed, misère ouverte.
I chose Bonnie Raitt “I can't make you love me” because when I listened to it it brought
back memories of my childhood feeling second to my fathers work. His physical presence was
always their, but his heart belonged to his work and still is. After listening to the song 5 or 6
times I thought of the question, what makes the heart feel for something that it can't
touch----like love, and went from there.
In your head to pass this time
Attributing the former to your lies
Remember our cycle. Oh! how we belonged
We herded great minds and looseth the wronged
This is your part in our shattered glass
Although we fenced these strong beliefs
It is insatiable lust we reprieved
just short a miracle in humming this chord
Their weaknesses sort was time reborn
This is my part in our shattered glass
Endless love stories with novelty rhymes
a mist of colours, distractions and lies
Lighter pages, suspense or crime?
Mirrors and doors, our refraction in time
This is my part in our shattered glass
Just as we lost faith, we tore apart these walls
thus we drifted and sailed to our downfall
Last I heard of thee, it was late in the fall
In love and in lust, at her new masters beck-and-call
This is our sorrow in my shattered glass
Children with an illness,
Go through life,
They are looked down apon,
Because they are different,
When really they are not,
They are no different from you and me,
They have the same blood,
Running through their bodies,
Just as their hearts as well,
So, don't just look apon,
Their outer appearance,
And judge them,
For who they really are,
For a lot of them,
Are smarter and brighter,
Than you and I,
Could possibly be,
On our brightest day,
For they have the gifts,
From God up above,
So, always take the time,
To get to know their inner beauty,
For who they really are,
Cause they too need love,
Just as everyone else does,
If not even more.
A silhouette I saw in the far blue
Your lingered scent lay softly on the wind
A morning rises slow behind you
I thank Almighty God for you again
With finger tips and gentle hands a wish,
to build a world within a world we've known
And give your lips a long and tender kiss
To stay between our heart's a loving throne
For love would carry us to graying years
As love feasts on the purest heart's we'll grow
A peaceful day in flight beyond the tears
While soaring high, I see my love below
You promised when I laid in still repose
Upon my casket, orchids and a rose
When you left, the lights faded
The blue skies turned grey
When you left, my emotions died
I thought I’d never survive that day
When you felt the curtains closed
And the stage faded to black
When you left, life strangled itself
And hope hid between heartbreak and despair
When you left, every image blurred.
But that spark remained alight
A tiny reminder of life’s resurrection
The sky turning back to blue
The reopening of the curtains to a lighted stage
A possibility, a tiny jest of instinct
In my mind I met you halfway
But my heart held back astride
For when you left, it died.
Out of the blue when the universe played
Got bored with my unshakable conduct
Brought out a flesh from a memory made
Perchance to test the thorn that has been plucked.
Dinner begins no harm; Scotch does not cut
Even unsaid language must not perplex
Yet longing for the presence turned us shut
Fast paced occurrence is what he projects.
Got carried away with this missed habit
Not denying ecstasy being felt
Though bothered by ways acting as unfit
Just sailed along until nothing was held.
Mutual fondness maybe at its peak
However, deep connection was still weak.
Guilty of being a slave to that pain
Much more with such shallow drawing power
The saying, “third time’s the charm”, is insane
Six seasons had it for the frail flower.
Putting up a struggle with the contrast
Causes the weariness of my texture
Pleasing the established circle had passed
Offer consolation for such gesture.
I need that distinctive pea in my pod
One who reflects himself on my flawed glass
I need that impulse no matter how odd
One who can keep up as far as it lasts.
The urge deserves to be in highest form
Never again be deceived by such norm.
She walks amid our dream of brick and stone
dreamt yesterday, then made for time to share,
the spirit of our past, she walks alone,
but she will touch your hand if you are there.
Past cobbler's dens, and Printers Alleyway,
down by The Tannery, the five and dime,
and bakers who arose before the day,
she's known them all, through pages of our time.
And she can sing you dreams from songs forgot;
they made our nation cling to unity;
in lessons sweet, in times where we had not
enough of blood who made our dream to be.
She walks, she is our dream of Liberty,
to welcome those who died to keep us free.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Sonnet From the Porch.. on Geese
Why linger still upon an ice bound pond
lone feathered symbol huddled warm and dry
dine upon the fresh sweet sprouting frond
unable to assault the fleeing sky.
Bloodline circle beckons join the draft
can nature’s simple truth become undone
weary wings abandon ageless craft
passing on the future to the young.
I cannot travel with them all their days
nor burden gaggle with slow flapping wings
while longing for the feel of old sun rays
watch as they depart for future springs
Thus rendered faster in their flight
seeking out their day and I my night.
John G. Lawless
Sometimes I see you standing alone
Before the ruins of your past; you moan
For the withered leaves that were trodden
By you along the riverbanks, your mundane
And prosaic hours transforming into dream
Hand in hand, the soft woodland mist, the gleam
Of your crimson heart; the inevitable kiss
Opens up all the secret caves of bliss
A silent breeze caressing your careful tresses
Your sojourn to the domain of clouds that bless
All the magical fountains sprouting love
Dancing down through vales, the treasure-trove
You stand perplexed before the labyrinth of present
Where love’s fairy tale is shrouded in its end.
(6th May 2002)
Oh! Upon this day with the saddest eyes
I with regret farewell Auckland City,
To depart with the fondest of goodbyes
Of its people and sea shores pretty.
Although not a child of thy civil womb
You took in a desperate family,
My adoption the fruit of your spring bloom
In return labour given readily.
I leave within your care my youngest son
A Kiwi lad if any he’s become,
Our different accents becoming spun
Like the seed of one’s culture ne’er succumb.
So farewell Aotearoa farewell
Now is the hour a tale of you to tell.
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Separation looms, after another loop of hand in hand love,
our third. The weight dissipates and becomes fresh air,
our affair regains the bloom, reaching upward again with flair.
We didn’t know, we were in flow, out of control, as our
moment passed, and the hourglass bled, the ebb arrived.
Letting go, only to know that what we had was everything.
In loss we grow the most, the skin that peels away reveals
our scars. The truth is buried deep and needs this surgery
to emerge, to be set free. But we go deep, into the core
of it all, to reap the joy of all our pain, and share the trust
we gain. Our little secrets fall away and get refilled with love.
Letting go, now that we know the circle of love cannot be broken.
We are ready now, to free ourselves and fall back to the flow
of the unknown, the constant love that grows through letting go.
I’m sorry my dear heroes for our shame
For mothers’ empty tears that now go by
For curses braved so cowards sit and cry
For surely there is someone else to blame
I’m sorry that your glory became lie
That freedom was an easy thought to tame
That while you fought our leaders played a game
That all the hopes of yesterdays now cry
Like flocks of sheep to terror in we cave
To eyes and ears that watch us everyday
Arrested cause our clothes hint misbehave
Our children searched in streets they used to play
Those dreams of liberties whose cost were grave
Are freedoms we now lightly give away
Life, A Vanishing Mist
It is so very late in my life
a future pain awaiting my wife
A tragedy for my very young son
years are short, life as yet so undone
Memories are signs that say very soon
well past a shining three quarters moon
Pondering my demise and its effect
hoping no duties do I ever neglect
What is a decade when it flies by
or fears of no more future skies
A man can only pray to do his best
ask God in Heaven to do the rest
Twilight now awaits its next hardened stone
mortal man , sacrifice of flesh and bone!
Robert J. Lindley, 08-16-2014
note: Pondering the future for my family when
I am no more. I write my thoughts, glimpse my fear
and draw my sword in anticipation for a great battle.
A day, a month , a decade..?
Ten years or so , to a soul desiring another 60 is a
bitter pill. Yet swallow I must...
Not abitchin' at all, just a ponderin'.. lol
There is an island small near the airport and is connected
to a small bridge. In summers I used to take my dog there
for a swim… the dog liked to swim but not far and long,
just too cool off. Parking was no problem back then and
dogs were allowed. After swimming we walked to a café
I bought a litre bottle of water, cupped my hand so the dog
could drink too, I read a paper and the dog found a shade.
Drove back yesterday wanted to see if there had been any
changes, the beach was full of sunbeds, each one with
a parasol and it cost money by the hour. Those who didn´t
want to pay had a stony part of the beach they resembled
a flock of seals on a reef. It was all so organized and clean it
looked to me like a military encampment. No, nothing stays
the same, my dog is dead, has been so for a long time.
Big windows are nice, but the sun heats up and
the room gets hot up quickly, we need to shut
the blinds and close for the view of the sea line.
We visited a man who lived alone and he didn´t
want his day changed by us, switched on the TV
as he always did at noon and we sat there seeing
a program about lion cubs in Africa, giraffes and
hordes of gnus and zebras.
TV is a great human voice silencer, the art of talk
Is being overshadowed by the visual to see others
act and carry on a useless conversation so we do
not have to do it. Perhaps the man estimated our
errand, hoped for more time before being told his
wife had not survived when her plane fell down.
Yes last night I cried out, for every little disaster feared,
Tormenting my soul as it‘ll be there someday soon,
I have shed every tear already, of what future beholds,
Inner self craved to depart, but a coward behind the eyes didn’t let me,
Can YOU not Lord bring me up there?
So I don’t have to face what I fear,
What possibly waits to be seen …
Oh please I’m breaking every night already,
Have mercy n set me free,
They say He gives man the sorrow,
Only of what he is capable to deal,
Except You Lord, all I have is them,
So I say by myself, assert,
I can’t, just bring me up there…
The Mare and I
Georgia on my mind, I remember a song the sweetness of America,
I have never been there but once I was in Huston, Texas, my ship
was there for repairs. I rented a car and drove deep into
the countryside which was hot and dry Just like in a western movie,
I stopped at a dud farm and they gave an old mare to ride.
When tired of riding the mare and I walked side by side along dusty
tracks and tumbleweeds and I thought of Indians who lived here
and left no history behind other than baddies in western movies.
Both the mare and I knew while there might be historic changes and
upheaval, human nature remains the same; it is about war and peace,
love, hate and jealousy...and finally death. But not quite that, above
all there is dignity and respect for life. Texas has a big sun and it was
setting. “Home on the ranch” a song remembered. Time to get back
to the ocean and admire the dolphins and listen to their song.
I make no promises
of my graceful presence to you
I could lie, but how few
could I shake off these dismisses
Making time, so hard, confuse
your frozen heart in time
Like a mountain I must climb
Wondering, oh what to do?
Ringing you back, first option
then waning the dusk away
now I haven’t a clue
I probably stare at shun
and had things still to say,
This girl is done, that will do!
(Sonnet New English Style)
You need to say you're sorry before is too late
Don't be a fool but listen with your heart
Don't throw it all 'way and pull us apart
We've been through much and the best can not wait
I know you think that you are all above
But remember how it was for us once
We have some to save just give us the chance
We're soulmates and in truth endures our love
Why give it up when you know is not right
My soul can't comply filled of sorrow
There's a trapped song that no longer flows
And despairing tears stretch all thru the night
Heart bleeds and there's no place for me to go
I expect you choose right and let it show
Dorian Petersen Potter
The Swans of Bleu Pond
We loved there in Vienna one spring day
as boating on the mirror of Bleu Pond
we thought true love had surely come our way
though time for love for us had scarcely dawned;
your ruby smile was such a joy to see
and won my heart so quick I couldn't think
but when you touched my hand, there could't be
more love than what you made my soul to drink.
And when the swans came by, your finger tips
were on my mouth, I thought that I could die
until I tasted of your passioned lips
that brought me back from where swans never fly.
That summer's now a pleasant memory
the swan song of a love not meant to be.
Our muted friends, you said would never sing
for they're not free to fly, and be their own,
you said our love was that same shackled thing
so beautiful, yet freedom's never known,
and you would just as soon to early die
than clip the wings of love you had for me
and so the love we had, just you and I
was only meant for us to set it free;
and I, in love with love, and in my youth
let loose my heart to soar with swans above
who sought divining ways to search out truth
complying with the need for knowing love.
they still sail on Bleu Pond reminding me
of what was never mine, and I set free.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Your sudden departure caused glum wonder
A blow that was sinking deep into core
Panic and tough refusal grew under
Death by the final course was to blame for.
Fidelity is dug from a soft spot
His bittersweet timeline has proven such
Makes to think if love is worth the long shot
Little bit of drama for a soft touch.
Yet too forlorn to accept selfishness
Detaching duties of a well-wisher
Comfort is given to a reticence
Ignorance to the acquired fresh blister.
My dear friend grilled upon reaching the cure
To after one’s own heart that was thought pure.
A WREATH FOR SAINT VALENTINE’S DAY
A clew within this virgin card from the head
Which you denied and now which gives you hope
Has come to me. When you opened your mouth
The scent of honeysuckle drenched my shoulder
Your hair tossed, though neatly cut
Still betraying my wild, rapturous caress
Your eyes, that were soft, are now sharp -
Knowing pollution, spoilage, missiles;
Behaving with me with speech-robbing words,
Soul-hurting cynicism, lethal logic.
Now I’m staked to the ground, a paling
Around my house where golden children
Will never flower, who once flowered
In your heart of satin’s reddest hearts.
By Rosemarie Rowley