Fear not the fierce wind, o gentle heart
Though it may rattle the eaves
And give no ear to its whispers with nothing to impart
But shallow promises that hang, like dried, parched leaves
Listen to its mournful wails on the way to some distant shore
Leaving in its trail, the harsh rawness of a chill
And envy not; give pity instead and be sure to keep no scores
For the warmth of a gentle heart is by far, richer still
For who can fathom the baleful howls invading valleys below;
Billowing across the fragile earth and her boundless seas?
Is it in anguish that it protests; who can really know?
Or is it a mere expression of a mighty power that seethes?
Yet, judge not, o gentle heart, but like a blade of grass amidst a storm
Lay calmly into the wind; rely not upon your strength to stay strong
There was a warning came one day
It said disaster’s on its way
An old volcano in the distance
It could erupt in any instance
The molten ash came pouring out
As neighbouring village was in doubt
Folk were running to and fro
It seems they had nowhere to go.
Buildings were cracking one by one
Blocking out the golden sun
This thing did turn our day to night
As everyone was filled with fright
As the Earth did turn to lava
Many prayed to the holy father.
Vera Duggan 16 August 2014.
Dearest, why cry in vain to the black night
fight its gentle intent to hold and rest.
Why fear the loss of light thus malcontent?
When ego is so false upon the loom.
Dearest, what makes you think elation found
from harsh light will so frame your hearts delight?
Reality thus formed will not slay fright.
When ego goes so false upon the loom.
Dearest, husks of the Universal eye
soft grays will velveteen the fading light.
Walk on courageous in the Mother's night,
accept the silken comfort of the blur.
All that is soft and gentle comes from Her.
Dearest Heart, loose yourself upon the loom.
*Dedicated to my friend Robin Gass
and all those who fear dispersal in the dark.
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art much more shrivelled and much more cold
Rough winds shake the withered leaves of today.
And your stomach hath too many a fold.
Sometimes too hot your sister shines,
And often is your grey complexion dimmed;
And you always smell like my uncle’s swine
Except your upper lip is less well trimmed.
Thy eternal summer did long since fade
And lost possession of that fair thou ow'st;
And Satan brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives death to eyes.
Sad boy, could anyone mend what's broken,
And dry your salty tears, but with a hand?
Is there anything we haven't spoken,
Is there anything we don't understand?
We have taken the rope, but not the pain,
I hope you know that we wish that we could.
We'll be here for you, through sunshine, and rain;
And if we knew how to help you, we would.
I know that you're angry with all involved,
And especially those close to your heart.
But surely, some day, all will be solved,
And you will thank them for playing their part.
So please read this poem, with thought and care,
Remember that we will always be there.
~ For D (you know who you are)
The Real Fear...
The fear of darkness seems to threaten most
When one is lost and groping in the dark
Of self. One blames unknowns—the devil, ghosts
Or even God—for fright that comes with stark,
Cold, empty blackness. Courage will depart—
Just like a pearl dropped in a sea of ink,
Its glow will die—while fear's black magic art
Revives despair between each hurried blink
Of eyes which stare at shadows that incite
Imaginary monsters of the mind.
But oft these visions are the mirrored sight
Of what one sees within when eyes are blind—
For darkness lights and magnifies the whole
Dim panorama of the troubled soul.
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Dark and Deep (Old Poems Only)
Sponsor: Skat A
Debbie Guzzi's Contest
The moon is full and white, and chill, this night,
it cascades past my open window sill,
and all the color fades to dark from light,
a monochrome of gray which can't be stilled.
The armoire's oblong shadow strays across the floor.
I watch it from within my canopy bed.
A nightmare gallops through an open door,
a Pooka black as coal with eyes that bled.
Its jaw agape and gore froths from his maw,
as it slowly paws the cover from my bed,
a scream freezes in my throat, a bird-like caw,
he dips down for me to mount, and I am led.
Upon this demon spawn, I scour the moor
'til dawn descends to belay this foul glamour.
Like Frankenstein, I, too, am loathed to death;
I walk this earth devoid of friend and hearth,--
devoid of joy from the time of my birth
and from the first draw of my infant's breath.
An outcast and a pariah among
the friended, I exist without the mirth
and glee of those born of happier worth,
esteem and prize,--O would that I belong!
Still, I am loved of my dear family
and most loved friends, my books, and by my God
and e'en by my most oft-read poetry.
These things I cherish, honor, and must laud
with gratitude and thanks religiously
and be content as worms in a blesséd sod.
whispers carry through the silent air
and linger for moments after which spoken
I take the time to let them echo inside my ear
before they fade and their presence is broken
shallow breaths in a rhythmic type of tune
wishing for the moment to last forever
afraid that goodbye will be said too soon
breaking the bond that ties us together
locked in a gaze only to be suddenly taken
away from what was cherished between
distance widens I pray to be mistaken
from what is now being forcefully seen
fear running wild I struggle to meet your eyes
as the last whisper I hear is one of goodbye
THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN
February 13, 1945
Pathfinders lit the night to show the way
for bombardiers too hungry for the word;
as Dresden's dark was made as light as day,
all hearts were stopped before the blasts were heard;
and as the din was heard by all their ears
the sound it made was not reality
but far removed from all the hopes and fears
and what they thought would never come to be.
They loved the Fuhrer--sin enough for all
to die the fiery death of sweet revenge
brought on by those who had enough of gall
to drop their loads in wartimes heated binge!
And when the fire consumed all that it could
the winter of their lives was understood.
The table is set, your favorite wine
Tender memories of all we once knew
Your contagious smile that made the sun shine
You're not here I know, but what can I do?
Just marking time, in this tortured charade
Grey days and dark nights to look forward to
I yearn for that quirky grin that you made
You're not here I know, but what can I do?
The book that I'm reading gives me a smile
I'll call you so you can laugh at it, too
Guess I forgot you had passed, for a while
You're not here I know, but what can I do?
I spend all my hours in thoughts of you
You're not here I know, but what can I do?
An eerie silence wrapped the bog,
I dared not move nor speak.
The chilling blanket of the fog
Where evil beings creep
Conceals within tormented souls
Now stirring from their sleep,
And there within a fate foretold
Lie secrets they will keep.
Into the darkest night they prowl
To feed upon the weak,
And even wolves with frightened howls
Hide in the forest deep.
The terror of the living dead
Will feast among the meek.
Craig Cornish Written Nov. 2, 2013
For Leonora's Halloween Contest
I wonder what your thinking, in your country far away
And what on earth possesses you to threaten mine today
You allow your people to starve, munitions they are first
While daily people starve to death and many die of thirst
Your father and grandfather should have taught you how to care
Instead they shared their legacy of treating people unfair
Many live in work camps with three generations or more
Simply because they disagreed, so now all must chore
You live in style above the rest, have people who adore
But deep down, I believe that each person longs for more
You teach hatred and despise my country each and every day
For freedom and free choice would take yours away
Your people follow in fear, like robots in a line
I wonder how long they will conform or will it be your time
More and more try to escape, or die instead of live
In a country such as yours that takes much more than it gives
Each building,statue, memorial you have to tell a tale
Of twisted truths and travesties instead they often fail
For freedom is what's needed in the country you call home
Grow food instead of opium,and leave the people alone
You have the power in your hands to change what was past
Hurry please before it's too late you must do it fast
Do not start a war in which more people will die
Because your father and grandfather started it with a lie.
The hunter hunted; the past comes stalking,
breath now visible, I quicken my pace,
dusk has fallen, nature is now talking,
autumn's chill causes my heart to race.
My eyes scan dense forest from left to right,
I stop, gain my footing in the thicket,
only branch and crimson leaves in my sight,
owls call out, and prey upon the cricket.
Voices seem to speak from the babbling brook,
cold stones, worn smooth, waters of countless days,
eyes are everywhere, yet nowhere I look,
something is near, I cannot get away.
Struggling, my arrow kept at the ready,
my once stealthy hand, is now unsteady.
This was my original entry for Debbie Guzzi's contest - "A Crown of Sonnets"
(This is also the first sonnet that I had ever written.)
I looked below and saw the dawn from here,
Disturbing may, below the light- a man.
“Oh, stranger most, shall I ask you with fear?”
“Dear one, you fear no one”, replied the man,
“Nor Him, you fear Him not for you are but
The holder of the strings of those you sight.”
A second by, I asked him in abrupt,
“The guardians of the roof, had they loved me?”
He voiced: “Their love are drawn in stitching crossed,
Exquisite yet details are course, you see?
The veil from where it rests you should have tossed,
Each thread in havoc, one chaotic sea!”
I spared a tear, his face did went outworn,
Afar the lake I headed. God, I’m torn!
I gave up on you years ago
Felt love in my life had to go
Felt free and strong without care
Never needing wanting another there
Life has changed so much since then
Looking inside I take to pen
Wonder have I grown up yet
To include something more than a pet
Another February comes to be
Alone again hello, just me
Valentine's day it comes and goes
Will I again receive a rosé?
Will this be the year I'm ready to see
If someone can share their life with me?
Who pays this roaring mass?
Which pretends it has nothing to do with me?
Yet keeps pulling its antenna,
To watch what I do?
Who pays these seat feelers?
To gawk at me
Even when I am yawning?
Who pays this swam
To creep into my bolts
And unlock the secrets
Of My private business
Who pays us?
For I have been possessed by their intrigue
I find myself doing what they do
Yet I am not paid at all
I am going on strike
This boss has to pay me
Because I am becoming a workaholic
yet earning Revenge
Startled I see my dream again tonight
Awaking from within me deepest fright
Creeping from out my misty eyed slumber
The beast inside me began to lumber
Catching myself in front of the mirror
Your eyes beside me, your shrieks of terror
Wax smelt courage, your trigger finger slight
Now you see me in a different light
Soft moonlighted skin dotted with twin holes
For my ravens guide me to sinful souls
Now conjuring up your holy spirits
Refuse you the truth because you fear it
And yet again I wake a lonely Knight
My dear, come here, promise I won't bite
Oh mother, dear mother, come make my bed,
for the sun grows tired and has lost its shine;
come bless the place where I will lay my head,
surround it with angels, all that’s divine.
Oh mother, dear mother, come bar the door,
count the slow clock's chime as shadows descend.
Eve's breeze is now listless, birds sings no more,
all the land lays in silence , till night ends.
Oh mother, dear mother, sing me to sleep,
drown the foul voice of fears infestation;
let us join strength, to one another keep,
safe here in your care, and consolation.
Dear father, please protect us through the night,
save us from all harm, till dawn brings us light
I'm sitting on the side of this cliff,
Looking down into the emptiness,
I know I am alone but what if,
I was not so god damn hideous.
Maybe I should not have gotten up today,
And all of a sudden,
I stand up and try to keep these feelings at bay,
I need to keep them hidden.
Cause I can't let anyone see them,
Need to pretend to be dreaming of going far.
Buts thats why you are reading this poem,
Even though it seems so bizarre.
But I can't guarantee,
That I won't just recede.
How do we ever know whom we've come to know
All we see is their periphery, externally on show
But what resides from within, can be River Deep, Mountain High
With levels we can't seem to count, internally they cry
Internally they cry, into a world we can't comprehend
It's no wonder they appear like this, if me, I'd be round the bend
One minute their world seems so right, suddenly a darkness descends
All it took was explainable, but a different signal they send
A different signal they send, yet it's receiver appears to know
What was there originally no longer appears to show
Just like a pendulum swinging, to the left and to the right
No middle happy medium, for when it stops out goes their light
When it stops out goes their light, and a darkness descends
Maybe it's what they had become, driven round the bend
I find myself not , eating, thinking, and sleeping
Sometimes , not doing things right in my life
The many obstacles , Im going threw
Just to reach one goal
The many blocks, I walk
Day or Night
Sometimes confuse on time
Wishing it was a dream
The moment , I heard
You went to sleep
All, I keep saying is
Who , understood me like you
For the many reasons
I love you
I appreciated everything, you did
From the braveness, you gave my soul
The gentleness, in your words
For each teardrop, you wiped off my face
Now, my teardrops seem to reach the ground
While , I look in (Heaven)
Praying your looking down
Showering this fear off my skin
Feel my feet
They're so weak
But , for you
I get on my knees
Singing and crying, to God
That my angel is you
So , I can whisper in your ear
Mama, make me brave
Brave like you
June 8th 2012
< master of disguise menacing havoc
I fear not your pronged fork and wooden stick
but one illuminates from presents sight
tis I carries master key whom ends plight
brushstroke if must with your evilness twist
for I stand strong from an Hevenly bliss
poke and probe away with your woven schemes
tis I'll be the one laughing though it seems
your inferno fire from gates of hell
diminished by just one shake from this bell
so bring on your barriers and good grief's
tonight I'll be the one with good night's sleep
sowing not fear of satin's smitten grasp
but turning check telling to kiss thy ass
The Devil Made Me Do It
Sonnets Only Contest
(Note: it is rare that I make drastic changes to anything I write, but a friend made some suggestions about changing my poem DEATH OF MADAMOISELLE duPONT, and I agree with her. Here is the change, I believe it makes a much stronger poem...and very timely."
DEATH OF A GAY MADAMOISELLE
Dear Stella, there's your path, into the park,
deep shadows hide the trees along the Seine,
the quiet of the night accents the dark
and you can feel your breathing now and then.
The peaceful gloom, enveloped by a mist,
all black and gray and shades of morbid white,
accentuates the place your eyes have missed,
where someone waits, who's watched you every night.
This place, where gendarmes warn to be aware,
tonight is more foreboding than you've known,
and so you pause; you look; is someone there?
it's then you realize, you are alone.
The snapping of your heels you hear increase,
as if the hurry puts your mind at peace.
Engulfed, the path leads up and from the Seine,
and then you'll be out of this narrow pit,
but suddenly you feel the eyes again,
much closer than a glove too small to fit.
You struggle with your thinking, in a word,
to flee or just pretend no one is there,
and so you hum a tune you've never heard,
and place your safety in your mother's prayer.
Oh, Stella, Stella, in the spring you'll wed,
your sweet Marie, believe she's at your side,
and you will laugh at all this gloom and dread...
though courage might have found you, it has lied.
The shadows all are moving; you can hear
the breathing of someone who's all too near.
The quiet; crickets sounding no alarm,
but now a drizzle rain cools at your heat,
and tingles flowing down onto your arm
remind you of the friends you'll never meet;
quite suddenly, she's grabbed you from behind,
and muffles any sound you might have found,
you cannot scream, to hurt is in your mind,
but she's too quick, she's pinned you to the ground.
Who is this thing, your lover or your friend,
you might have pained...why does she want you dead?
or is this just someone who brings the end,
you've never known, with killing in her head?
You feel no teardrops, feel no blood nor fright,
there's only pain, then blinding, blinding light....
© 2003 ron wilson aka veebdosa
Nighttime has fallen across the whole land
And silence deafens the ear to all sound;
Darkness so deep that I can't see my hand
Or many-toothed things that are lurking around.
I feel my pace suddenly quicken with fright,
Supposing a ravenous beast is behind;
Some bloodthirsty, vicious creature of night
That can't be envisioned by any sane mind.
Abruptly—an alien noise makes me turn:
A snap of twig, or maybe dry bone.
My wide eyes see nothing, my gut starts to churn
As I realize the cause of the fear that I own.
The terrible, monstrous beast I can't see
Is really a different expression of me.
Of all the scary sights that we behold,
The measure of our fear remains unmatched.
And even with the most horrendous mold,
We cast away the scene our mind has patched.
But shut the very eyes from which you see,
And darkness will indulge your mind for free.
For darkest shadows that inspire fear
Loom not in what you see but what you hear.
But spite the fear and listen through and through
With time you breach the sound with crimson blade.
For there exists so much to frighten you,
That in the end you cease to be afraid.
The time will come when fear will pass with grace.
And chimes become the tears of glassy space.
I got this confusion,
I simply cannot sleep
My heart is aching badly,
but I found no reason to weep
A news from the men in the front line
That the war is near to ending,
Yet nobody can ascertain
which side is going to win
I pray for the brave men
To be home soon alive and safe
A sound sleep for their children
They left home before bed
I feed them with the hopes
That their daddies will win the fight
They'll be back if not the morrow
Maybe after the next three nights.
I am a yellow bastard
Who refused to join the rest
Of their effort to gain freedom
While their own lives are at risk.
I can see the shame on my face
I can taste my own disgrace
My way of self-redemption
Is to wish our men all safe.
Date & Time of Writing
August 11, 2007
1:11am - 1:53am
A bit of history:
Lt. Gen. George S. Patton, at that time the commander of the Seventh
U.S. Army (but he was more popular as the commander of the Third U.S.
Army towards the war's end), visited a military hospital in Sicily on
Aug. 3, 1943. He walked past the beds of wounded soldiers, asking them
about their injuries. Coming to the bed of a soldier who lacked visible
signs of injury, Patton inquired about his health.
The soldier, 18-year-old Pvt. Charles H. Kuhl, had been initially
diagnosed as having a case of psychoneurosis. He told the General that
he couldn't mentally handle the battle lines. "It's my nerves," he said.
"I can hear the shells come over but I can't hear them burst."
Patton, so enraged, slapped Kuhl across the face and called him a "Yellow Bastard".
Like Edgar Allan Poe I live in death
and in dread of "The Raven," that dark rime
of gloominess in that bird of dark time
and evil spirits, ghosts, and haunted breath.
Contemptible bird! You've arrived from Hell
and from the nightmares of mine own bedtime
to punish me for my sin and my crime:
indifference to God and to what's well.
O hell-spawn, dreadful creature of the wing!
Must you condemn me for the dead Lenore
with the dark ebb and flow of your cruel sting?
Like Poe, I have crossed o'er your evil door
and into the abyss of this curséd thing....
O Raven! I, like Poe, do die therefore.
FROM AN ABUSED LADY
I've known our end is here for sometime now,
but your sweet talking ways led my heart on
to think we'd overcome it all somehow
avoiding what is plain, our love is gone.
So now the truth, and cold reality,
comes to my mind, as sure as do your lies.
And I must put aside what you tell me
but not the truth that's in your lying eyes.
How you could beg my love then go your way
into anothers arms, I shouldn't know,
now time is gone when I'd have more to say
and so I'll simply bid you now to go.
And if your fits of rage leave one more mark,
your future will be bleak, and cold, and dark.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet.
The day begins with promises,
from the east as the sun rises,
it has hope that to all it carries,
lighting our way from bitterness,
that we wish to leave with yesterday.
The promise to shine away the pain,
bring smiles and joy to its prey
that it feeds from everyday.
Then the wind changes its direction,
twisting smiles into smirks,
clouds try to get each other’s attention,
light shines from the grey sky,
threatening to take life by a flash.
Then the blue hides under grey,
then small drops of tears of the sky.
That is how love passes by.
The loving OW-JAY