One need not read her horoscope to know
this woman's fate, and though wisteria
cascades sweet blooms of lavender like snow
outside her door, it's still Siberia
pervading the dimensions of her mind,
for not one fickle thought or patch of moss
can thrive where bleakest shadows are enshrined.
No bittersweet, no dew drops. . . only loss
surrounds her heart. She tries to reminisce,
but like a barren continent grown cold,
she can't perceive one particle of bliss.
She's clasping grief and cannot be consoled!
Wisteria's perfume is in the breeze,
but in her soul remains a winter's freeze.
Sonnet with Iambic Pentameter, Written by Andrea Dietrich, Sept. 24, 2014
for the Structured Forms Iambic Verse II Poetry Contest of Giorgio A. V.
I walk upon a green feathered hilltop
To find your soul, I lost long ago
Lay flowers where your grave says stop
and sit in silence till' the sun is low
I'll bow my head in search for loneliness
With hands trembling cradle tears that fall
And feel the sadness of emptiness,
while listening for the unanswered call
There is no time pain's loss can quell
No answer to quiet the question why
Life moves on and there is only hell
Searching for you, lost, my eyes still cry
I'll claim no noble dignity or deed
Find nothing alone on this hill, but need
When pain hits hard, you might feel like your soul
is bleeding out, but there’s no blood to see.
Your body is the part that takes the toll,
and physically you feel the agony.
Perhaps the pain goes to your heart as though
a knife has sliced right through it, or you feel
it in your gut as if you took a blow.
No cut or bruise is shown, yet it is real!
When both the body and the spirit seem
to reach their limit, tears are overdue.
You have to let those tears go! Let them stream
and carry out the bitterness for you.
An empty tissue box becomes the sign
that soon, and hopefully, you will be fine.
The saddest sound in all the world,
The bagpipes weep as raindrop pearls
Land to take on grass-green hue:
Tears to mourn the loss of you.
Your boys line up with shaking lips
And breaking hearts to numbly grip
Your modest coffin; spirits brave,
They trek toward your dewy grave.
We follow you through wind and rain.
The pipes still croon their sad refrain.
We bury you with roses white,
A tragic yet tremendous rite.
And as you sleep beneath the ground,
The echoes of your life resound.
Of all the sorrows that so govern her generous heart,
Her love is the most unfair thing breaks her apart;
In her life everything is already signed and sealed –
And she evermore solemnly griefs her soul appealed
To cheat, to relinquish, or to commit suicide and die
The death that shall liberate her of her perpetual cry.
Has providence deserted her, so unkindly in all facets of life
That she so feels old, unhappy and like a desperate housewife?
For alone she weeps, breathless with melancholy; her pouring tears
Desolate with bitterness, anger and incessant grief of discovered fears.
Her heart is weak, her soul is weaker –her life is a scornful jest;
No endless joy, or liberty of love (a nice little girl by love depressed.)
‘Tis hard to dissever when love & pity have been merged in dim,
When all that she wants is to love and to be fairly loved by him.
When the wind whispers your names in my ear
This void craves for a glimpse of your faces
Recalling times in a happier sphere
Now soured silently in empty spaces
And when drums pulsates your voices in force
This void yearns and grumbles for a tumble
As the teardrops fall, the mood changes coarse
While the resolve commences to crumble
And when the crescendo becomes unkind
This void hungers for specks of your being
To comfort the pain in this heart and mind
To make sense of this life without meaning
Though this bruised void accepts it is God’s way
Each summer breeze begets thoughts that betray
Penned by: Ronald Zammit
In Memory of Andrew and Timothy
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord. Job1:21
There is no more of love, no scent of it,
Upon the pillow where he lays his head.
Just the cold grey silence of where he sits,
Knowing, the essence of the house is dead.
Love is a simple thing, which only knows
Of love, and not the careless ways of men.
It cannot reason with the mortal blows,
That hurls it towards oblivion.
There is nothing now, but the reality.
An emptiness, and the grim fantasies,
Of the steady step, to finality.
The slow decline, to abnormality.
Where sad and pointless years that lay ahead,
Are filled with loathing, and a sense of dread.
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.
When last they kissed, and passion's lease
bloomed brief and sweet, Sir Shakespeare's quill
would set in motion a deathly chill.
For Juliet, he could not appease
to win her smile and would not release
a tranquil tale...but did reveal
this tragic poem, where lovers fell
and would break our hearts with spellbound grief.
Behold, your eyes will weep for her,
and empty arms will flail, for him
Young lovers swept away, in love
Misguided youth that we hold dear
and through the years we pray for them,
as songs are sung by mourning doves
Their love, was a fever, sorely sought
Of passion's quest, she would requite
to bridge the wage of family strife
But, delusion, rides deceitful plots
To think him dead, she had no doubt
Despaired, beyond her wildest thought
Disquiet of the heart cried out
And death, would dim the stars that night
Their song still lives, as stories will
Upon two graves, we linger here
Such love divine, is ours to keep
A sonnet binds them, ever still...
A love that cannot be compared
While swollen hearts, with anguish, weep
Oh pearl of the world, opalescent daughter of nacre
Venus borne up in a shell from the shimmering sea
Had I known your loveliness would be a trouble maker
So gladly, so happily, I would have let you be
A dream so richly rare to ignite a weak man's greed
A burning thirst that only having you could quench
By night we hide, they fire a shot and then my dirty deed
The thieves lie dead before me but still the pearl I clench
Juana keens a high and shrilling moan of deep travail
I rush to them.. What can it be that causes such distress?
My son, my Coyotito, so cold, so still, so pale...
I damn, I damn, this devil's jewel that I possess!
Ahead a life of emptiness, that no riches can restore
Into the sea, oh witch's spawn, your curse shall kill no more!
March 8, 2013. Based on John Steinbeck's novella "The Pearl".
Natural perfect pearls of good size are very rare and quite expensive.
One beautiful lie , an unvoiced sonnet
Words veiled with a crime that steals my hearts last beat
Slow turn of your mood shows me disquiet
With kisses warm and vulgar with deceit.
One pulse stills, our love was not the one love,
Just remains of a lukewarm cup of tea.
You steep and brood, one pineing the lost dove.
My broken wing lame, I fall into the sea.
Beautiful lies, my heart begs for your fires
To hear the words forged my way by anvil
Beautiful lies, hope grows dim and expires
Waiting for judgment by divine gavel
Tremble my lips , tears fall dry from my eyes
Protect me from madness, beautiful lies.
You didn’t come that dreadful night
Or in the morning with the rain
Even through all my pain
You didn’t come, with all your light
You didn’t come to bring me might
And as though my loss were your gain
You didn’t come, you did refrain
From coming to take away my fright
And now my heart is cold and bare
And now you may come and see
That no love could be harbored there
And this is what I will always be
Because you didn’t come and didn’t care
©Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.
I Kiss the rain for it hides the tears
As they flow down my face
All the bottled up sadness and fears
They won't look out of place
For no one can tell that I'm in pain
How heavy my heart may be
When I stand up tall and kiss the rain
The drops will hide so no one can see
They say the rain will cleanse you
Just Like a shower or a bath
So I'll use the rain to renew
To Decide upon a new path
So kiss the rain when you need to
No one will know but you.
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.
The rain-god bursts in Himalaya regions
With snow-covered mountains and deep forests
There’s Kedar temple for Hindu pilgrims
Coming to worship the god in thousands
Sanctum Sanctorum inside the temple
Of Kedar revered by millions of Hindus
A bleak picture of purses, bags and shoes
All personal things lay strewn in ample.
Outside the temple vandals had free hand
Houses, cars and what not flooding in
Thousands of people dead or stranded
Millions waiting to hear about their end
There’s no right or wrong way to cope with pain
Time, can renew and permit you to mend.
Contest : Grief by Shadow Hamilton
9th place win
The Kedarnath temple, one of the four pilgrimage centre for Hindus world over, is in the Himalayas at the height of 13,500 feet. There was a cloud bursts and then heavy rainfall which was about 375 percent more than the benchmark rainfall during a normal monsoon. It is feared that 20,000 people have died. This happened around 14th to 17th June, 2013. There is a news now that the temple will reopen. On 1st of October i.e. after nearly 95 days. Surprisingly, there is no danger to the idols of the Deity Shiv or Nandi , the bull.
Please visit my blog, if you want to see the video clips on the tragedy
Where were you when my world fell apart?
The Sun darkened and the Moon just fled.
All had been done and all had been said.
And ripped to shreds was my beating heart.
Even the Seas began to part.
And the Mountain tops spread.
I lay there completely dead.
Even the Stars I could not chart.
If only you knew,
If only you were there,
If only you had a clue!
If only life had been fair!
I’d turn the clocks back,
Still standing dead in my track!
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.
Now picking up the pieces,
From a heart full of bruises
Dementia, pain and depression,
Saturate my heart extension.
She was a walking rainbow,
I saw when the sun went low.
She was a rare specie around town,
Which I did not realize until now.
Just like a sugary fleeting vine,
Made she my life a tasteless wine.
Every night I sit and ask the moon,
Why did she have to leave so soon.
I wish I could turn back the clock to gain;
Her, I will be willing to take a bullet, through my brain.
I look at her picture ... she'll never grow old.
A feathered headband on her small, downy head.
The pain will lessen, that's what we've been told
but we've so few memories of a babe , now dead.
Scarlett of name, a moniker bold,
for such a wee thing, fragile and young.
She won't grow into the name, will never grow old.
Won't learn to walk or talk or ever have fun.
I look at her picture, tears brimming my eyes.
She sleeps so peacefully in repose.
They say time will heal but I believe it's all lies.
The grief that we feel, no one really knows.
Her unbearable beauty left scars on our hearts.
On the day God reclaimed her ... we all fell apart.
We buried her in that grave in the ground;
it was her final, resting place--poor Mom!
Shaken, I wept but my siblings were calm;
only I appeared distraught and unsound,
overwhelmed at the sudden loss I found
too great to bear; it was like a huge bomb
had exploded in our lives,--like napalm!
There I sat...my grieving tears were profound;
it had been an upsetting funeral:
we buried her on a cold, wintry morn...
all there knew their places on arrival;
among them I wept, so tearful and torn
during the service and the burial.
In the end, I felt so dead and stillborn...
Black tulips adorn her favourite vase
At this dinner table set up for one.
Her face distorted as if hit by mace
As she displays the medals he had won.
A clowder of black cats wail on the wall,
Emulating Chopin’s funeral march.
His parents just lie there and their eyes bawl
At the cenotaphs under the tall larch.
The thunderclaps join in the gun salute
For treasured sons returned in body sacks.
These are cold facts that one cannot refute
Unless on haunting stats we turn our backs.
With their memories embossed on a plaque
Those stars and stripes are all now painted black.
Contest: I love rock and roll
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Upon hearing of Peter Kassig’s beheading
Paint it Black
The Rolling Stones are touring Sydney
A sudden thrust: the scraping sound of steel
Against the bone, careering from the blow
His balance lost, staggering as he kneels
Upon the earth, he tries to staunch the flow.
The bloodied sword now dropping to the ground,
His battle rage now slowly dissipates.
They seek each others eyes but make no sound,
Just silence at the sadness of their fate
Three days they fought, no quarter given still,
Three nights they met to clean each others wounds,
Today they knew that one of they would kill,
And in that killing both of them be ruined.
Watching his brother slowly slip away,
He cursed the games of kings that made them play.
The bottomless pit of time, days long past,
memories like tangled vines of a jungle,
rampant foliage, leafy ferns to grasp.
Rotting, flowering parasites struggle,
for life, like an unfinished masterpiece,
I thrust grief into the misty tangle.
Grasping for something beautiful, for peace,
in the inky shadows of yesterday
I dance with sorrow, crying for release.
Within this maze, this labyrinth, I pray,
mourning for yesterdays I cannot change,
I twirl, swirl, waltzing amongst trees, I sway.
I tremble in soundless silence of dreams,
only waking, do I hear my own screams.
July 9, 2013
For the contest, Terza Rima Sonnet
I never summoned sadness to my cause
And yet it fell full to me, neverending
A darkness envelop the soul, to pause
To leave despair, a depth I'm descending
When did time become a realm so cold?
As beauty faded away in silence
When love was shaken, the heart foretold
Loneliness will appear in love's absence
Grief flows fluid, while in quiet repose
To fill the emptiness, when love has died
Reflections fleeting, do not but expose
A need for a flickering light, to guide
Summoned by sadness, with no knowledge of
To feel a heart grow cold, without love
Where is the nation which speaks love ,
where are the spirits which kept us above ,
where can we find the solution for grime ,
like a tiny mosquito committing a crime ,
where the air around lives in a coal miners lung - ,
serving all mankind , till the singers sung ,
darkness our future – remains in our fate ,
hard striking sweats – prove together very late .
Love is far found under the graves ,
humanity is flown in the melodious waves ,
lacking all words – but we act very brave .
Sum up the words – saving bloody lives ,
bawl , cheer , and glamour – forging against the knives ,
clutch on the oldie – seeking truth till you dive .
Fly away little bird.
Winter winds are churning.
Alas, the cold has been delivered
Replacing summer’s burning.
Fly away my feathered friend
The river bank’s receding.
My true love left me days ago
And now my heart is bleeding.
The warm days, the sunny rays
Was the time of our love’s season.
You’ve turned your back and walked away
Without a breath of heart-felt reason.
If you ever find me waiting,
On the shore at evenings nigh.
Keep your path below your feet
As I pray when you go by.
Fly away, heart of mine
Loves season passed the starry night.
Winters spirit has cast a spell
So spread your wings as you take flight.
Carrie Emily Beck
To be innocent is to be entirely unknown, even to oneself.
- Djuna Barnes
I am free at last to be silent, to lap
In the quiet of your promise of promise
Like the pear tree in the garden which feels
But does not ask, why such beauty here?
On rainy monsoon days locked in
Wanting to explore the sea and the galaxy,
The tree beseechingly asking the rain,
That I may not be gauged from your gaze,
To be by one companion remembered,
Name scratched out on the asylum walls.
As I was cancelling out ideals
I saw in the forest the tumult of life.
The remorse of a nymph once a virgin,
The stars were there, but of accidental origin.
from IN MEMORY OF HER
Tender smile fumes, the vanished touch of yore
Against midnight scream, passion in folklore
Tether thy gaily words. Not a tear loss
Arise ye heads, looked thence before at toss.
Silence posit as means for foe deceit.
Norm thath mandate knees ‘till poseur forfeit;
Smash across bloody, unknown one gallant
Niggle on trust which n’vr malevolent.
Flee and austere, meek wolves escape shameless,
Fight outside pride, hope tributes when helpless.
Oh! Might destroy peace nurtured humble eye;
Obscure fate hung after teary goodbye.
Untold misery haunts. Short lived supper
Unfold all plots. We died unseen pauper.
How like a prison is my cubicle
How wary is my body on this chair.
How still my heart and yet how truly fickle.
How fast it flies to you who are not here.
How elegant your letters and your thoughts
How gentle was your touch upon my throat.
And yet you killed my words and all I brought...
You were no lover but a randy goat.
As in this mental jail I'm neatly trapped,
I'll use this time to write and also pray.
Perhaps my mind can extricate a map..
From which I'll plot the route to get away.
The prisons which seem external are inside
Yet in such captive grief some folk have died
leaving at last one by one their final plane
not yet having back their own name
on Netherland's caring and respectful shoulders
brought a bit closer by soul stirring soldiers
forty(*) shiny black hearses crawl at a footpace
lining up on a for the occasion reserved airbase
driving on cleared Dutch highways and roads
forty unidentified victims their heaviest loads
finally heading home after such horrible days
nation's crowds gather along endless highways
showing and sharing silent grief and paying respect
after that deadly sky high rocket impact
the Dutch population is applauding with heartwarming faces
whilst strongest most impressive comforting tranquility embraces
(c) Elly Wouterse
(*)This morning (07/24/2014) announced that today's convoy will be twice
as long - 74 hearses will be on the - for them - cleared highways and roads
.... and tomorrow... another motorcade of at least 70..............